


Something Wicked

by andeemae



Series: All things wicked [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attack of the Clones from Sabé’s POV, F/M, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Sabé/Obi-Wan, Previously posted elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andeemae/pseuds/andeemae
Summary: Galactic intrigue, a reckless senator, and an infuriating sister, Sabé struggles her way to the start of the Clone Wars, one disaster at a time. Sequel to 'All things wicked'.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Sabé, Padmé Amidala & Sabé, Sabé & Padmé & Saché, Sabé & Saché
Series: All things wicked [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752160
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.
> 
> AN: If anyone is reading, here's the sequel! It's actually complete and previously posted elsewhere, but I plan on posting it chapter by chapter still, 1-2 times a week. I’m marking this AU because I originally wrote it...a very long time ago and background info has changed and so I figure I should to allow for those changes.

9 years later

"Ooh look! Get some of those! I love those!" Saché excitedly whispers, pointing to a yellow colored pastry.

"We are supposedto be wooing potential investors and scoping out potential problems. Not stuffing our faces," Sabé mutters in response.

Saché rolls her eyes, stuffs a sugared fruit in her mouth. "We have been. We 're allowed to eat though. Starving isn't a requirement."

She stuffs another florescent green fruit in her mouth and munches happily on it while Sabé scowls.

"This is why you got kicked out of that casino," she mumbles to herself.

They turn from the table once Saché has sufficiently plundered the candied blumfruit and observe their crowded surroundings.

It's an exceptionally dull formal gala, hosted by a prominent businessman from Alderaan. He sells something, wine Sabé thinks. It's not very good, but it's easily accessible to the masses, very popular, and making the doughy old man credits hand over fist.

Their mission, as Padmé-now Senator Amidala- explained it, is to build up connections and promote Naboo's interests among those in attendance, people who had power, influence, and most definitely, money.

"We could just market our own shoddy, dirt cheap wine," Saché complained. "It'd be easier."

"That's...not the point Sach." Padmé adjusted her gown, the hologram flickered. "Naboo needs allies, and the best way to gain those is through commerce."

"We could market ourselves as a banner vacation destination," Saché suggested.

Ignoring her, Padmé finished telling Sabé which individuals they need to focus on before wishing them luck.

"Be a senatorial aide, they told us, it'll be glamorous, they told us," Saché huffed, digging out a dress. "Why do we keep getting sucked into this stuff?"

When Padmé had traded the position of Queen for Senator, Sabé and Saché had been the only Handmaidens to make the transition with her.

Their Lorrdian heritage made them invaluable to the new Senator. Reading kinetics, body language, and influencing those around them with mimicry, unsurprisingly, is useful in the galactic political arena.

Eirtaé had settled down with Savoon, a match Saché took full credit for, and decided to stay on Naboo and train the next generation of handmaidens.

"If I can hammer manners into Saché I can make any girl presentable," she'd told Sabé, after she'd accepted the post.

Rabé married, opened a dressmaker shop in her home valley, and was pregnant with her third child.

Yané had gone to the Technical University in Theed, and then joined the on planet security.

Sabé didn't begrudge them their choices, but there were days she missed them. Padmé's new handmaidens simply weren't as close as those that had gone through the invasion together.

Sighing, Sabé takes one of the pastries from Saché's plate.

"If that handsie Duro comes back around I'm ducking out. Padmé can fire me if she likes, but they don't pay me enough to put up with that. I'm telling you if I don't have bruises on my hip from that dance I'll die of shock," Saché grumbles under her breath, smiling the entire time.

Sabé grinds her teeth, fights off the urge to roll her eyes. "No you won't.

Sighing wearily, Saché makes a defeated noise, smile never faltering. "No, I won't."

A Bothan comes tottering towards them, obviously drunk, and then begins chattering pleasantly. He's one of the names Padmé gave them, so the girls smile, laugh at his terrible jokes, and nod as he babbles on.

It's easy, but dull.

After half an hour, Sabé begins to wonder if Saché has an escape route planned. There'd been a window in the bathroom, if they held their breath they could wiggle though it...

"…and of course technology," she hears the Bothan, Kast Ley'kin, finish. Finally

"Naboo has a great interest in all of those things. I'm certain some kind of exchange program could be formed," Saché cheerfully prattles back. She probably hadn't been listening any better than Sabé, but one quick glance at the Bothan tells them everything they need to know.

He's peddling just what their Senator wants them to get invested in Naboo.

"Our academies try to expose the youngest among us to all the knowledge they possibly can, what you describe could be immensely helpful in furthering our education system," Sabé adds.

The Bothan looks immeasurably pleased with this praise, however generic and dim, and pulls holo-cards from his pockets handing one to each of the girls.

Once he's wobbled away, Sabé lets out a long breathe, examining the card. "Padmé will be pleased with that."

Saché nods, glances around the room.

"Ooh! Look over there, Sabs. Those two, the Quarran and the Twi'lek, are definitely having an affair."

Out the corner of her eye, Sabé sees the pair and nods.

"Definitely." Not that she cares.

"If we catch them I'm making a holovideo we can use as leverage, then we never have to come to anymore banal banquets ever again," Saché informs her, grin widening at the thought.

Sabé's pleasant expression falls for a moment and she shoots her sister a mortified look. "Are you suggesting we blackmailthem?"

Saché nods. "Yeah."

"We are not blackmailing anyone."

"Why not?" Saché asks, looking honestly confused. "Are we politicians or not?"

Ignoring her, Sabé takes her by the arm and drags her away from the food.

They manage to draw in a Correllian who controls various trade routes and explain how beneficial it would be for him to expand and include Naboo. It's so tedious, and he's so obviously only speaking to them in the hopes of getting them into bed, that by the time the conversation ends and he's given them contact information Sabé is more than willing to let Saché blackmail someone.

"My face hurts," she mutters, hitching the front of her dress up.

"Mine too. I wonder if we've done some kind of nerve damage. Do you think we can get compensation for that?" Saché whispers back, popping her jaw.

Sabé rubs her cheek. "Probably not."

"Pity."

Saché turns, putting her back to the Duro from earlier, scans the room, her expression freezing with her eyes just over Sabé's shoulder.

Sabé raises her wine glass, pretends to inspect it while trying to use it to see what has so fascinated her sister. "What is it?"

"It's a who, and I'm not sure yet."

She links her arm with Sabé's and pulls her along, weaving through the drunken dancers and past the adulterous Twi'lek and Quarran, toward another table laden with food.

They side step a few potential dance partners and politely declined the ones they can't avoid before reaching the object of Saché's curiosity.

It's a young man, tall, a little on the thin side, short sandy hair and a very familiar, very silly looking little braid.

Glancing down, Sabé spots the lightsaber at his side. A Jedi, though not even Saché could've known that from where they'd been. There's something more that's caught her eye.

He's apparently a very hungry Jedi, because he's shoveling food onto his plate and into his mouth at an alarming rate, as though he hasn't eaten in some time and is afraid the food might vanish if he doesn't capture it quickly enough.

"You know," Saché whispers loudly as she smirks at her sister, "I've never seen someone do such an accurate impression of a black hole."

Sabé shakes her head. "I don't think black holes pull things in quite that quickly."

The young Jedi turns around sheepishly, color rising in his cheeks. His shoulders droop and his eyes fall to his boots as he mumbles an apology.

"Oh, we're just messing with you." Saché laughs, playfully swatting at the arm not holding the highly piled plate. Her eyes narrow and she studies him a moment longer before she finally speaks.

"Anakin?"

The young man's head jerks up and Sabé sees his blue eyes, and looking closer, the traces of the little boy that had left them on Naboo all those years ago. A grin breaks out on his face.

"You two-you're handmaidens!"

"Were handmaidens," Sabé corrects him.

"We've been promoted," Saché adds, polishing her nails on her dress and grinning.

In half a breath they find themselves in a crushing hug.

"Air, Sweetness," Saché gasps, tapping his shoulder.

He quickly releases them, looking sheepish again and muttering, "Sorry."

"No worries," Saché reassures him, sounding a bit breathless.

"What are you doing here, Anakin?" Sabé asks once she's re-inflated her lungs.

Galas are hardly a big draw for Jedi. They've only seen one other in attendance, and he wasn't a Jedi anymore. It's a bit worrisome.

"We were invited, well, the Jedi were invited to send representatives, and we were chosen to come. We end up protecting their interest so often they kind of owe us," he rambles excitedly. "Is Padmé here?"

He cranes his neck, searching over the crowd for the Senator.

Saché stifles a laugh.

"No, she delegated this little task to us," Sabé tells him, offering a smile in consolation.

His disappointment is palpable. "Oh."

"We'll tell her we saw you and that you send your best," she attempts to reassure him.

Anakin smiles gloomily before picking up one of the pastries from his stack and eating it whole. Saché looks impressed.

Sabé curiously glances around. "Who're you here with?"

It's a mistake to ask.

He shrugs dismissively. "My master and a couple of other Jedi and their padawans."

"Your master?"

Sabé's stomach drops out and down to her ankles. Of course his master would be here, and of course his master is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She quickly considers telling her sister the Duro is heading their way just so they can make a stealthy get away. Her schoolgirl crush refuses to let her though. "Where?"

Saché's eyes harden.

She no doubt remembers how dispirited her sister had been following the Jedi's departure. The two girls had sat up many a nights discussing crushes and Sabé's hopeless, unrequited one on Obi-wan. Despite Saché's assurances it would be fleeting, Sabé never had quite gotten over her feelings for him.

"At the table with the others."

Anakin gestures with his plate, nearly losing some of his food. His quick reflexes save it from the floor, though he still gets a terse chirp from a cleaning droid.

Sabé looks to where he gestured and there, seated with a kind of careless grace, is Obi-wan.

He's slouched over, leaning on one arm and speaking in low tones with another apparent Jedi. His hair is longer, he has a short, scrubby beard, and he's wearing clothes reminiscent of ones he'd worn at the ball on Naboo.

Out the corner of her eye she spots Saché, clearly none too happy with the direction the reunion has taken.

Leave it be, she silently tells her sister. Leave it be and let's just go.

Sabé only smiles.

No.

Not only does she want to prove to her sister that she's fine, she can handle a stupid, childish crush, they might gather some information. Jedi are notoriously hard to get information from. They've got an inside track. Maybe.

It's worth a shot.

During the last few galas they'd heard things. Several systems leaving the Republic, angry rumblings, an alliance forming. At the center of all of it was a former Jedi.

It was all very upsetting to Padmé, and she'd asked them to gather as much intelligence as they could on this brewing problem.

So who better to wheedle information from than current Jedi?

Saché almost rolls her eyes. She's less than impressed with Sabé's plan, but waves her hand toward the table.

"Lead the way, kiddo."

He swallows another pastry and grins. "Alright."

Saché sighs.

This is stupid, she seems to say with every twitch of her cheek.

Sabé can't honestly say she's wrong.

She hopes she is though. Maybe seeing Obi-wan again will kill her crush.

As they approach the table, both girls take note of the others there.

There's an older human lady with her gray hair pulled back in a severe sort of way, a Gran, a very young looking Rodian, and a little Nautolan bobbing eagerly in her seat.

"Is that a lightsaber at your side or are you just happy to see us?" Saché asks, grinning at Obi-wan, her staged cheerfulness back in place.

Obi-wan stares at the two young women, speech failing to bring him an adequate response to such a remark.

Anakin nearly chokes, the Gran's mouth drops open, and the two youngest simply look dumbfounded.

"Excuse me?" The severe looking woman finally sputters, her eyebrows rising rapidly on her high forehead.

Saché burst into fits of laughter.

"Hello Obi-wan," Sabe pipes up from behind her sister, waving a shy little hand at him, and feeling very stupid.

This was a terrible plan.

For a minute he stares at her, battling between recognition and confusion before the haze lifts from his eyes.

"Sabé?"

Anakin snaps his fingers. "I knew it started with an 'S'."

Saché's jaw drops and she smacks him in the shoulder. "You didn't even remember our names? You louse!"

"Hey, I would've remembered eventually!"

"Yeah well, I'm Saché, by the way," she reminds him, her chin raising a few inches in mock indignation. She gives him a small shove. "You'd do well to remember it next time."

"If you're going to assault my padawan I may have to intervene," Obi-wan interrupts, looking like he has absolutely no intention of actually helping Anakin.

"If a Jedi can be brought down by a little woman in heels and a very restrictive dress, then I weep for the galaxy," Sabé teases, leaning over the back of one of the unoccupied chairs.

The older woman scrutinizes them, then turns to Obi-wan impatiently.

"Are these friends of yours, Kenobi?"

He blinks. A weary expression flitters across his face, equal parts annoyed and frustrated, before he answers.

"Yes. We met during the Naboo Crisis. They were handmaidens to the Queen."

She looks anything but impressed.

Obi-wan clears his throat, then gestures to each of the Jedi at the table.

"This is Master Gilim, her padawan, Ene Cene," the little Rodian's antenna wiggle slightly, excited to be mentioned, "and Master Loew with his padawan, Yeyla Miri."

The Nautolan lights up at the mention of her name, her tentacles writhing into knots around her head.

Obi-wan then turns to the girls.

"This is Sabé and her sister Saché…"

He trails off, at a loss for their name.

"Lindzee," Sabé tells him and he smiles gratefully.

"Are we allowed to sit down or is this a 'tunic only' table?" Saché asks, well-practiced faux sweetness so thick it could drown a man.

"Please do," the Gran, Master Loew, answers, standing and pulling out a seat.

Master Gilim glares at them stonily.

Sabé gracefully takes the seat nearest Obi-wan while Saché sits to her left, nearer Anakin.

"You two are business women," Master Gilim states, unimpressed with the pair of them.

"No," Sabé corrects her, smiling and trying to warm her to them. "Senatorial Aides. For Senator Amidala of Naboo."

Despite her stoic expression, icy glare, her appraisal of them is clear.

This, her body seems to shout, is the best Naboo has to offer? Pathetic.

"How lovely," she stiffly replies, even though she obviously thinks it's anything but.

Sabé sees Saché out the corner of her eye, plotting for the slight against them.

"And Senator Amidala sent the two of you instead of attending herself, why exactly?" Master Gilim wonders aloud, an edge in her voice, apparently disliking the Senator every bit as much as her Aides. Probably for subjecting her to said Aides.

Saché takes a sip from Anakin's wine glass, winking at Sabé.

"She wanted to be in attendance for several committee meetings. So she sent us. We have, ah, certain social skills that are rather helpful in places like this."

Sabé grimaces.

Why can't Saché keep herself in check?

Leaning forward, trying to blocking out her increasingly loud sister telling outrageous tall tales to the amusement of both children, Master Loew, and Anakin, Sabé gives Obi-wan a small smile. "How are you Obi-wan?"

He glances, first to Saché, then to Anakin, before smiling.

"I'll survive." He waves a hand. "You've grown."

Forcing down a fierce blush threatening to overtake her face, Sabé nods. "And you've grown…a beard."

He grins, stoking his face. "Ah, yes, so I have."

"I like it. It makes you look very…wise." Even though it's a bit straggly.

Chuckling, he takes a drink from his glass before gesturing to Saché, now animatedly recounting a trip to Nar Shadaa where she'd been arrested.

"I see she's as exuberant as ever."

Saché throws her head back, laughing brightly at something one of the children has said.

Sabé chuckles.

"I think she's gotten worse. Eirtaé isn't around to fight her down anymore." She steadies her nerves with a sip of wine and grimaces. It really is awful wine. "Granted our job encourages her a bit. It's a wonder she even bothers with manners most days. What have you and Anakin been up to?"

He frowns, stares over her shoulder at Saché for a moment, than back to her, a peculiar look frozen on his face before shaking it off and answering, "Anakin and I have been off on missions. Training. Dreadfully boring things."

Sabé snorts. She greatly doubts anything the Jedi do on a daily basis is boring. Excepting the occasional gala.

"What about you? Aside from the promotion of course," he asks politely.

Politely. His posture, his facial tics, the gleam in his eyes.

He's not enjoying himself, not that she had expected him to, but still...

She didn't expect to outright bore him.

It's been a long time since Naboo though, and she should have known better than to hold on to the romantic notion that he would see her and...

She isn't even sure what she'd expected.

Feeling deflated, silly and childish, Sabé digs out her most well practiced smile. Her voice is too soft when she finally answers. "Oh, nothing."

Obi-wan's features soften and he seems to finally focus on her. "Sabé…"

"Anakin, my boy!" A male voice booms over the table, causing everyone to stop and look to its possessor.

Ambling toward, them in all his purple gowned glory, is Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

When he reaches the table he claps Anakin on the back before finally taking a good look at the two non-Jedi at the table.

"I was going to congratulate you on your extreme good luck at picking up two such lovely ladies. However, now I feel it is my duty to warn you these two, lovely though they may be, are quite a lot of trouble."

He gently places his hands on the girls' shoulders and chuckles.

Sabé struggles to keep her smile intact for the Chancellor while Saché beams at him over her shoulder.

"Sir, you're too kind, noticing me. People are going to start thinking I'm approachable."

He chuckles. "The horror."

Turning her back to Obi-wan, Sabé brightens her smile.

"How are you this evening Chancellor?" she asks, grateful he's one of the few politicians not angling to look down her or Saché's dresses.

"Much better now that I've seen such friendly faces," he tells her, patting her shoulder paternally. His expression suddenly sobers. "I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother."

The dancing light in Saché's eyes blinks out and Sabé feels her heart constrict.

Their grandmother, their Nammy, had passed on only a few weeks before. Years of heavy smoking, too much wine, simple self-neglect, had finally overwhelmed her.

They'd mourned, cried themselves dry, taken her back to Lorrd to be placed by their mother, emptied the house, and then thrown themselves back into work as soon as Padmé would let them. They had no reason to look back to Naboo, their only ties were with each other now.

"Thank you, Sir," Sabé vaguely registers Saché say.

"She was a unique woman. A bright light in an ever darkening universe," the Chancellor gently tells them.

It may be an empty platitude, he's a hard man to read, but Sabé appreciates it all the same.

Life had not been kind to Nam, and the fact that someone as powerful as the Chancellor bothers with even the impression of mourning is a kindness.

"Very much," Sabé agrees and gives him a small, sad smile. "You're very kind to remember us. The flowers you sent were beautiful."

He pats her hand and then looks at Anakin, jovial affection back in place.

"I'm glad to see they let you take some time off to enjoy the finer things in life."

Anakin grimaces, glances at his now slightly less heaping plate and tries to hide his high spirits with a calm nod.

He looks expectantly at the others, still sitting mutely around the table. "And I take it the rest of you are enjoying yourselves."

Master Gilim continues to glare, while Master Loew, Obi-wan, and the two children nod courteously.

"Wonderful!" He claps Anakin on the back again. "I must be off then."

Before he can finish his thought though Saché stops him. "May I ask a question, sir?"

Sabé almost groans.

If there was anyone who was harder to get information out of than a Jedi, it was the Chancellor. Seeing as they hadn't even attempted asking any of the Jedi about this man looking to lead a rebellion, they might as well go for broke though.

At least that's what Saché seems to think.

Chancellor Palpatine regards her curiously, frown flashing on his face, before he smiles again. "Of course, my dear girl."

Saché's eyes focus on him, looking for hints. Truth he won't share when he answers.

"We were at a gala at the beginning of the week and," she pauses, a breath for show, to appear unsure, not a threat, "a gentleman spoke of some quite disturbing things. A possible break of several systems with the Republic. Have you heard any of this?"

Chancellor Palpatine looks thoughtful, his movements betraying nothing. It's a sure sign he's keeping something from them to Sabé.

"I've heard rumblings nothing more. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Judging by the look that passes over Sache's face, she would do plenty more than worry about it, no matter how placating the Chancellor is, how smooth his lies are.

"If you all would excuse me, I must continue making the rounds."

He gives all the Jedi a cordial smile, a much warmer one to Anakin, then kisses Saché and Sabé's hands before vanishing into the crowd.

Sabé and Saché exchange equally irritated looks before standing.

It's all been a waste. A painful, useless use of their time and they're both ready for bed.

Sabé gives the table a polite, if frosty, smile. "It's been nice seeing you again, Obi-wan, Anakin, and very nice to meet you all."

Without so much as a backward glance, Saché links her arm with Sabé's and escapes into the night


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

"He basically told us not to worry our pretty little heads about it."

Saché wrinkles her nose and brushes a troublesome knot out of her hair. She tosses the comb away with a huff.

She's a little more rumpled than she had been when they'd left the gala.

Between the main hall and their room she'd spotted the Quarren and Twi'lek and told Sabé she'd meet her in a while.

"What are you doing?" Sabé asked, not really sure if she wanted the answer.

"Securing our future," had been her sister's only response.

Sabé hadn't pressed her for an explanation for the state of her hair, the grease on her dress, or the recording she was so eager to encrypt on her datapad. She needed some deniability.

"I've never met a more difficult person to read," she adds, flinging a shoe into her bag.

Sabé pulls one of the little pearls nestled in her hair out and tosses it into a jewelry box.

"I don't know what we expected him to tell us. He isn't likely to just blurt out that there's dissidents plotting a governmental overthrow."

Saché rolls her eyes.

"Well not with them around." She pulls a disgusted face. "Why did you want to go over there anyways? Not that I didn't get a kick out of harassing that hag, but still..."

The final pearl drops from Sabé's fingers and her hair tumbles down as she carefully considers her answer. Saché will know she's lying, but she tries her luck anyways.

"I wanted to ask them about that count," she finally answers.

Saché turns from the vanity and flops on the bed next to her sister.

"Liar." She rolls, props herself up and sighs. "You wanted to see Kenobi. So out with it, how was it?"

Letting out a ragged breath, Sabé flops back and rolls into a pillow, muffling her voice.

"Awful. He-oh he couldn't have cared less about seeing me, Sach. I was just one more vapid shell he had to deal with."

She feels a pat on her head and then her sister's voice attempting to soothe her.

"Sabé…let's-let's think about this for a minute, you knew him for a few days almost a decade ago. He was, admittedly, quite attractive, except for the hair. That was awful. Just awful. But it-Sabé you knew not to make something of it." She leans in closer. "Besides, he's an idiot. You can do better."

Rolling, Sabé forces a smile. "I know."

But fantasies are hard to let go of sometimes.

"Then don't mope!" She scrambles to her feet and begins jumping. "You are beautiful and intelligent and friendly and-and loyal and trustworthy, and you are patient and loving, and absolutely wonderful!"

She drops down on the bed and grabs Sabé by the shoulder, fixing her in a stern look.

"So stop pinning!"

Falling back, Sabé grabs on of the decorative pillows and begins toying with the frilled edges. "I'll try."

Saché huffs and flops beside her, crossing her arms. "You'll try."

"I will!"

"You'd better," Saché grumbles. "He isn't that cute. Especially not with that hair. Who advised that crime against style?"

Despite her dim mood, Sabé snorts. "It really isn't flattering, is it?"

"I've met Siniteen with better hairstyles."

Sabé laughs and rests her head on her sister's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome" Saché frowns. "For what?"

Sighing, Sabé shrugs. "For being you. For making me laugh when I'm feeling sorry for myself. For helping me when I'm being irrational."

"Oh, Sabs," Saché chuckles, wrapping an arm around Sabé's shoulder. "We're all irrational sometimes. It's called being human, not even all those Jedi can avoid it."

#######

Sabé stares intently at the datapad in front of her as the shuttle to Coruscant carries them away from the gala.

Saché grimaces as she reaches out and swipes to the next bit of text, intelligence from a friend of a friend.

"The more I learn about this fellow the less easy I am about him," Sabé mutters.

Saché looks thoughtful, shrugs. "The disenchanted idealist are often the most dangerous. And he certainly fits the bill. If Padmé ever loses her romanticism the universe had best watch out."

Sabé nods her agreement and continues reading.

On the datapad is every last pathetic detail they'd managed to scour up about the man they had met earlier in the week.

They'd come across him as he had talked about the failings of the Republic and the complacency of the Jedi. He'd amassed quite a few listeners, which was hardly shocking. He was tall, cultured, well-spoken, and unfortunately clever.

They hadn't thought much of it-what did a few systems leaving the Republic mean to them?-but Padmé had been visibly concerned.

"There's more to it than what he's saying," she'd told them when they'd spoken with her hours later, mentioned him as an afterthought. "Get me more information."

So they had, even if they weren't sure why.

"She must know something we don't," Sabé reasoned. "She's the senator, not us."

Saché didn't look convinced, but had dutifully started gathering data, seeking out the Count's whereabouts at galas they attended.

"He's going to be trouble," Saché finally grumbles, bits of muffin crumbling down her front. "Padmé won't like this."

"What won't Padmé like?" A male voice asks as a shadow falls over the two.

Looking up, they find two Jedi hovering just in front of their little table. Two Jedi Sabe could do without seeing after last night.

"This transport," Sache answers, not missing a beat. "It's not fit to move banthas let alone Senate Aides."

An amused smile twitches at the edges of Obi-wan's lips. "We've been on worse."

Saché smiles coolly. "I'm sure."

Anakin and Obi-Wan sit at the little table, uninvited. They're up to something, obviously so, and both Sabé and Saché can see that, but silently agree to see what it is they want.

Besides, there's no point being rude when they might learn something.

"I'm surprised you weren't allowed to travel with the Chancellor," Anakin finally says, his expression genuinely confused.

"It's frowned upon for aides to be given such treatment," Sabé explains. "Besides, we can learn so much more on public transport."

The men exchanged a look so pointed Sabé almost asks them just what they're up to.

"Saché, do you want to go with me up to the food bar?" Anakin asks, already up and offering her a hand up.

So that's the plan, Sabé thinks. Divide and conquer.

Saché shrugs, gives Sabé an almost imperceptible roll of her eyes. She's going to play along, indulge their sloppy efforts, if only out of morbid curiosity.

Standing, Saché takes Anakin's arm and the two vanish in search of the food.

Sabé watches them disappear into the noisy din of people on the transport before bringing her attention back to the only other person at her table. She forces a smile.

Obi-wan's expression is cautious, almost worried. "Why do I get the feeling I've offended you?"

"Not at all," Sabe tells him, focusing on keeping her expression serene.

"You seem...distant, more than you were," he adds, eyebrows tugging together, little crease forming between his eyes.

"Like you said last night, I've grown up. People change. Being in the political arena made it imperative I hold myself a bit more tightly. Jedi aren't the only beings that can sense things. It's a liability. You should know that," she explains, wishing Saché would return.

He slowly nods, then smiles sadly. "Yes, it's always a little startling though to find people so very changed after a time apart."

"It's been nine years," she reminds him.

"Has it? Sometimes it seems much less than that," he mutters, more to himself than her.

Flattening out her skirt, Sabé lets the conversation lull, plans to at least, but then hears herself say, "You were bored last night."

She almost groans. She's so transparent sometimes.

He chuckles. "I don't enjoy galas very much."

Sabé nods.

"I'd forgotten they were outside your comfort zone." She forces a smile. "At least no obnoxious girls made you dance at this one."

"You were never obnoxious, Sabé," he tells her, leaning forward, frowning. "Now, why did you rush off last night? You'd barely sat down."

It's not why he and Anakin separated her and Saché, but he genuinely seems to be curious.

Mind whirling, coming up with dozens of excuses, each as ridiculous as the next, Sabé finally decides on blunt truth. On the spot lying is more Saché's expertise.

"I got the impression our company wasn't wanted."

He looks genuinely surprised, though it was hard to be sure. "Did you now? I can't speak for the others, but I was distracted. All the lies being told in that room, overactive, eager emotions, it can become overwhelming. Even when one is not trying to sense them."

Sabé's insides squirm. She'd completely misread him.

"Sorry I missed that," she mumbles, fidgeting with her empty water glass.

Saché wouldn't have missed that, she thinks miserably. If only her sister would bother herself with paying attention every once in a while.

A moment passes in silence, only the hum of the other passengers breaking it, before Obi-wan clears his throat.

"Did you and your sister fare well at the gala? You mentioned using certain social skills last night."

His eyebrows rise slightly.

Sabé feels her face warm.

"Saché mentioned that, not me," she reminds him. "I hate it when she says that. Makes us sound like courtesans or something."

As if they need help making people think that with their family history.

He chuckles. "She does seem to enjoy being a bit racy."

"Thrives on it," she agrees. "Fortunately, in our line of work it gets put off quite a bit. She thoroughly enjoyed harassing that lady Jedi with you last night."

She frowns. "Speaking of which, where are the others?"

"Ah," he sighs, taking a sip from his cap and then making a face, apparently not finding it to his liking. "Meditating."

Sabé arches an eyebrow.

"And why aren't you and Anakin meditating, oh great Jedi?" she teases, feeling more at ease finally.

Obi-Wan let's out a long sigh of suffering. "Anakin…was hungry."

Sabe snorts. "Hungry?"

"Yes-well, he eats at least ten times a day. Large meals if at all possible," Obi-wan explains, looking pained. "He kept on saying how he couldn't meditate properly while his stomach was rumbling.

"He is a growing boy," Sabé tells him. She grins and adds, "Outshot you."

He shoots her an indisputably disgusted look, but says nothing.

Feeling more at ease, Sabé leans forward on the table and tilts her head. "If you only came up to feed Anakin, why did the two of you want to get my sister and I apart?"

He tugs at his beard, chuckles. "Very perceptive of you."

Sabé shrugs. "You weren't particularly subtle."

He grimaces.

"Fair enough." He folds his arms on the table and fixes Sabé in a stare. "We thought, apart, you might be more willing to answer some questions. The two of you seem incredibly tight lipped around one another."

"Questions?" Sabé feels truly wrong footed.

She's certain neither she nor Saché have any information that would be of any use to the Jedi. Unless they want to know what the Correllian Senator's favorite take out meal is, or what traders they were currently in talks with, they haven't got anything useful to divulge.

"Last night you mentioned some discourse among some individuals at another gala. We've heard rumors about such activity for a few years now, but what you said makes it seem as though it's growing and becoming more open. What can you tell me about the man and those with whom he was speaking?"

Sabé frowns.

That certainly wasn't what she expected.

"More than I wish I could," she tells him, after a moment's hesitation, flicking on the discarded datapad and pushed it towards him. "That's him. Saché says he's far too cultured to be any good."

Obi-Wan's face darkens. "You're sure about this."

Sabé nods. "Absolutely, he kissed our hands before he left the last time we saw him."

"Such lovely and attentive girls," he'd commented, eyeing them curiously. "I hope our stars cross paths again, my dears"

The oddness of his comment hadn't been lost on either of them.

"Was he hitting on us?" Saché asked, looking more confused than Sabé had ever seen her. "I don't feel like he was hitting on us."

Sabé shook her head. "No, I-it was more...paternal, almost."

Saché rolled her eyes. "Great. He wants to be our grandfather. Fabulous."

Sabé shakes the memory away and watches Obi-wan read the datapad.

At first he doesn't say anything, just scrolls through the information with a deep frown on his face.

"Count Dooku was once a Jedi," he finally says, continuing to stare at the datapad.

Sabé frowns. She already knew that. It was right there in the report. "Yeah, I know."

He's quiet for a minute, maybe studying the words in front of him, maybe just thinking, before he finally sets it down.

"He was Qui-Gon's master."

Sabé feels her heart constrict.

That hadn't been in any of the documents she and Saché had poured over. They'd suspected it, from how often the two names were mentioned together, but Jedi rarely provided actual documentation.

Biting her lip, Sabé takes a breath.

"He's been in talks with some unsavory characters, from what we've heard. Most of them aren't too fond of Naboo...or at the very least aren't fond of Padme. Since we're just lowly aides, not really recognizable, we're usually able to hear things." She hesitates for a moment. "You don't think he's dangerous do you? What we've read about him is rather…interesting, to say the least."

Obi-wan runs his hand over his face, shakes his head. "From what I know he's simply a political activist with very high ideals, nothing more."

"But is he dangerous?" Sabé presses him.

Obi-wan sighs. "He is a former Jedi. One of the greatest at that. He held to the code strongly. He's an advocate for advancement and reform; I can't believe he would be a danger."

It sounds a bit like a brush off to Sabé, and she fixes him in a stern glare.

"Former Jedi. That probably tells us something about him? High ideals aside, of course."

Obi-wan smiles, a bit like a teacher with a pupil not quite understanding a lesson. "Former or not, there's always something of the code in us."

"People change," Sabé repeats their earlier assessment. "We've established that. You haven't heard some of what he says. He's...captivating, and what he tells people isn't necessarily lies, just very warped views of the truth. The Republic is losing strength. Then there's talk of a military creation act...Saché and I have been talking...it's almost as if something inevitable is brewing, and nothing good. We can feel it, it's a darkness looming. "

The line between Obi-wan's eyes deepens. He stares at her, as if he's never seen her clearly before, then tugs at his beard in thought.

"There has been a disturbance in the force growing for some time now. I'm surprised a non-sensitive can feel it as well."

Sabé raises her eyebrows. "Just because we can't move things with our thoughts or manipulate other people's minds doesn't mean we don't have any connection to your force."

Obi-Wan winces. "I didn't mean to offend you. Every living thing is connected to the force. I only meant most non-sensitives don't notice the disturbances."

"Maybe they do," Sabé counters, trying to keep the harshness from her voice. "They just don't voice it. Most beings with any sense about them at all have some level of intuition."

He smiles apologetically. "Very true."

Sitting back, Sabé toys with the hem of her dress, shoots him a sheepish glance. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Shaking his head, Obi-wan softly laughs. "And I'm sorry for questioning you intuition."

Sabé rolls her eyes. Her intuition is suspect, it's reasonable to question it.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your grandmother, by the way," he finally says.

Looking away, Sabé takes a deep breath before forcing a smile. "Thank you."

He looks very near to saying something more when they're interrupted by the return of their very loud companions.

"Honestly, you must have a second stomach in there. Maybe you're part Gran," Saché teases, her voice carrying over the din.

Sabé watches as the pair weave between chairs and around children, laughing the whole way.

"Look at this Sabs!" Saché laughs as she points to Anakin's once again piled high plate. "Where are you putting all this?"

Anakin plops in his chair, and after stuffing a whole berry muffin in his mouth he answers, "Ah hawf naw ahdhea"

"Anakin." Obi-Wan covers his face with his hand as a grinning Anakin finally starts chewing with his mouth closed.

"I'm appalled they let you out in public," Saché snickers.

"We're working on alternatives," Obi-wan tells them as he takes his hand down from his eyes. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid we haven't found anywhere he can't cause too much chaos yet."

Taking up the seat next to Sabé, Saché wordlessly asks if she's okay, smiling when Sabé answers positively.

"And what have you two been talking about?" Saché finally asks as she steals one of Anakin's fruit.

Sabé doesn't let the question hang, answers almost instantly. "Count Dooku."

Saché chokes. "What a cheerful conversation that must've been."

"Anakin was supposed to be asking you about the same." Obi-wan shoots his padawan a withering look. "I take it that did not happen."

Anakin keeps his head down and munches quietly on a fruited pastry, pointedly not looking at Obi-wan.

"Don't be too hard on him, dear." Saché pats Anakin's head, much to his annoyance. "I have the uncanny ability to sidetrack even the most disciplined of men."

Sabé can almost hear Obi-wan's thoughts. Anakin is not the most disciplined of men.

"What could we possibly tell the nigh omniscient Jedi? About one of their own, no less?" Saché asks finally, somehow managing to keep her expression the picture of sweetness.

"He's left the Order. You may know more about him at this point than we do," Obi-Wan answers, finally laying the datapad down and pushing it towards the still eating Anakin.

Saché's eyes fix on Obi-wan, reading his every action. Every facial tic, every movement of his hands, tensing muscles, Saché will see them all and analyze each and every one.

What that will tell her is a mystery.

Obi-wan simply smiles pleasantly and crosses his arms, waiting.

"I told him we didn't know much. Just that this Count is unhappy with the Republic and apparently stirring up trouble," Sabé finally brakes the staring match by giving her sister a very obvious look, trying to draw her glare away from the Jedi.

Saché's eyes slowly, so slowly, finally leave Obi-wan and fall on her sister, completely unreadable. "Oh?"

"That doesn't tell us much does it?" Anakin says as he finally takes a break from his plate.

Saché rolls her eyes. "Well, like she said, we don't know much. We've met the man all of a handful of times."

Obi-wan sips his tea, grimaces at the taste again. "It's something more than we knew before."

#######

The rest of the flight is spent on more pleasant topics.

The two mens' travels, Padmé, the girls' move to Coruscant, Padmé, Anakin's training, and Padmé, among other things. The other four Jedi never emerged from their quarters, apparently deciding to meditate the trip away. When they finally reach Coruscant Sabé is in a considerably better mood, mad Counts aside.

Saché rushes out to hail an air-taxi while Sabé and the two Jedi collect the girls' luggage.

Or more accurately, Obi-wan and Sabé stand back as Anakin pushes and searches for the baggage.

"I really should help him," Obi-Wan chuckles, not looking even remotely sorry for Anakin's predicament.

Sabé snorts as she watches Anakin being shoved out of the way of an older Sullustan.

"Nam would say its character building," she tells him.

After several minutes of shoving and grabbing, threats yelled in more than one language, Obi-wan has to smooth over a disagreement between his padawan and the old Sullustan. Anakin had stalked off carrying most of the luggage after that, with his Master and Sabé trailing behind him, trying and failing not to laugh at his surliness.

"He won't be fun to ride with," Sabé whispers as she reaches for one of the small bags Anakin had been unable to carry.

Obi-wan waves her hand away and picks it up for her.

"He's just annoyed that he's going to have to share an air-taxi with the others and not the two of you. He won't be able to make any more inquiries about Padmé." His eyes close in exasperation. "He'll need to meditate for days to get over the overexcitement the two of you gave him."

"My apologies," Sabé chuckles.

"It's hardly your fault."

Biting her lip, Sabé considers her next words carefully, not wanting to sound like the silly school girl she feels like.

"It's been really nice to see you again," she starts. "You were always very easy to talk to."

"As were you," he agrees, guiding her, hand on the small of her back, through the crowd.

She swallows down the anxiety building in her middle, focuses on not tripping.

They reach where the air-taxi awaits them and stop to watch Anakin fighting to push one of Saché's large shoe containers into the back while Saché argues with the driver.

"That's outrageous!" Saché's incredulous voice carries over the din of zoomers speeding by.

"Outrageous! This amount of luggage is what's outrageous!" The little yellow skinned driver barks back.

Saché grinds her teeth, sweat beefing up on her forehead. "Fine then."

She shoves a card at the little man and crosses her arms as she waits for him to run it, tapping her foot for good measure.

Obi-wan sighs. "Such a lovely, sweet tempered girl."

Sabé laughs. "It's a put on. She knows him. They do it so he looks tough. If he won't negotiate with a senatorial aide, nobody had better try to mess with him."

Anakin makes a triumphant noise as he finally gets all the bags in the trunk, slamming it shut and catching his tunics in the process.

"He's hopeless," Obi-wan mutters as Anakin fights to free his clothes.

He hands Sabé the little bag, his fingers brushing against hers in the exchange.

"We'll pass on your congratulations,"Sabé promises Anakin as he hugs them goodbye, finally free from the trunk.

"See you around, sweetness," Saché tells him, kissing his cheek.

"Safe travels," Sabé tells them as they bid their final goodbyes, waving shyly one final time.

Then they disappeared into the crowd to look for the other Jedi, bags slung carelessly over their shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

1 Year Later

Sabé sits frozen, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her, too scared to so much as breath.

Next to her, Saché is just as still, only the frills of her dress fluttering gently in the breeze from the air conditioner.

They're trapped in the closet of the office of one of the governors of Alliga. They'd been searching the mess he called files, had just finished rifling through the enormous desk, when they heard footsteps coming down the hall, and dove for cover before the governor and another man swept into the room.

"I cannot guarantee you a meeting with the Senator," the Holwuff grunts as he collapses down behind the desk, the chair groans in protest.

From their hiding spot in the closet, the girls hear the other man set down, gently, supernaturally almost, and then the now horribly familiar, cultured voice, chuckles, "That is all I ask, a chance to plead my case."

Count Dooku, the man they hadn't been able to locate all evening. Of course he'd show up at the most inopportune moment.

Sabé and Saché had been investigating the Count on behalf of Senator Amidala for almost a year. During that time, they'd watched him pulling strings and slowly trying to unravel the fabric of the Republic, and doing a damn fine job of it too.

They'd traced his moves, no easy task, and sifted through every record they could get their hands on about the places he visited. Every opportunity that arose to attend social events he would also be at was seized.

That why the sisters were currently dressed as a pair of purple Twi'leks.

Over the past few months they'd employed multiple disguises, Twi'lek, Togruta, Zeltron, boring looking human girls, to keep themselves from being recognized.

It had started out a bit like a game, dressing up and sneaking around, but it had lost its luster quickly. Months on end pretending to be different people was exhausting, physically and mentally.

She'd like nothing more than to be back to boring galas, now more than ever.

"I like what I hear from you Count Dooku. If the Senator does agree to see you and anything comes of it, I expect to be compensated," the Holwuff grunts again, the shadow of his snout visible through the slats on the door, raised in the air, sniffing.

Sabé preys the stink of the party masks her and Saché's scent.

His snout drops down when Dooku chuckles.

"Of course, my friend. If the Senator agrees to see me and decides to participate you will receive full credit for forging the connection."

A bottle pops open, the smooth sound of liquid being poured masks hushed words, then they laugh as their glasses clink.

There's shuffling, obviously the Holwuff getting up and passing something to Dooku who in turn mutters appreciatively.

The chairs creak, and seem to be preparing to leave, when Dooku speaks, "A word of warning, you have some rather unwanted guests. If I were you I would take some action to remove them."

Sabé's heart stops.

Had he sensed them, hiding in the closet, listen?

The Holwuff makes a noise, a grumbling laugh. "We know. We'll deal with him and the kid later."

The door grinds open and shut, then the Governor and Count's footsteps echo into the distance.

Slowly, Saché inches the door to the closet open, blaster up, sighing and letting her weapon fall when she's happy the room really is empty.

"Great," Saché mutters as she unkinks her lekku, "more cryptic exchanges."

Sabé nods. "At least we can tell Padme to keep a closer eye on the Alliga Senator."

For all the good it'll do.

"If we aren't the 'unwanted guests' who is?" Sabé wonders, brushing dust from the dress.

Saché shrugs. "Better them than us."

They silently check the darkened hall and head out, back to the deafening party downstairs.

Vapid smiles and blank looks plastered on their faces, they pushed back out onto the dance floor, their absence unnoticed.

Sabé hates acting as a Twi'lek. She hates how she has to dress, she hates how she had to behave, and she even hates how they dance.

Twi'leks should demand more respect, she thinks irritably, staying close to Saché, who is more adept at shaking off the leers and hands than she is.

Silently, she begs Saché to leave. They have all they're going to get for the night.

Saché twists around, swinging her lekku, agreeing.

The both look over the room, searching for an easy out without actually appearing to do so.

Saché's eyes flash and she jabs Sabé with her elbow. Follow me, sissy, she wordlessly tells her.

Sabé watches as Saché does a spin, whirls into a green-skinned Nautolan and begins giggling. Sabé does her own twirl, flashes a dazzling smile, and racks her memory for where she's seen him before.

Saché pulls the Nautolan onto the dance floor and makes a small gesture to her sister to join them.

The Nautolan is clearly perplexed, the tentacles on his head twitching curiously, but he allows the pretty girl to lead him onto the dance. Saché presses herself up against him, laces her fingers into his tendrils to pull him closer, her mouth a breath away from the side of his face when she whispers, "You had best watch out Jedi. You'll find few friends here."

He makes no move to indicate that he's heard her, but Sabé sees his tendrils make the smallest of twitches.

His dark, unblinking eyes scanned the room for the threat. Suddenly Sabé remembers just where she's seen him before: Master Jinn's funeral.

He hadn't stayed afterwards and she had only seen him briefly, but despite his lack of Jedi attire now, she's certain he's the same.

At least now they know who the 'unwanted guests' are.

A toothy grin flashes as his tendrils flick. "Many thanks my pretty, purple friend."

Saché winks at him and then inclines with her head, indicating he should follow her. Sabé wraps her left arm around his waist and giggles stupidly as Saché links her fingers with the Nautolan's and pulls him along with her, hips swaying.

Before they're to the exit, a Mon Calamari blocks their path, annoyance and confusion emanating from him.

"These ladies are going to show us a good time," the Jedi explains to his friend, grin never faltering.

Saché's eyes trail up and down the Mon Calamari, flicking upward with a huff. "If that's what you're into."

The Mon Calamari's mouth opens slightly, as if to say something, but thinks better of it. He instead follows them in sullen silence, casting dark looks at the Twi'leks as he mutters mutinously to himself.

They wind through guests, finally making their way to the dimly lit hall that leads to their room.

It's musty, a damp cool permeates it, and the yellow lights flicker ominously every few minutes. Outside the rooms guests have discarded garbage piling up, empty cans and wrappers, shredded clothing, the occasional piece of broken furniture. It's a charming place, really.

Their room is the last door on the left.

The paint is chipped and the card reader is hanging by its wires, Saché struggles with it for several minutes before getting it to work.

When the door finally opens, grinding on its ancient gears, the Twi'leks break into a flurry of activity, pulling their bags out from under the bed and stuffing their findings into them.

"Who are you?" The Nautolan finally asks, as he watches Sabé stuff several heels into a glittery bag.

"Don't worry about it. Just know we're saving your skin."

Pulling on a cloak, Saché pulls the hood over her head and begins dragging the lone bedside table to the window.

Sabe copies her, finally gathering her bearings enough to ask, "Do you have transport? We need to make a quick and quiet get away."

"First you are going to tell us who you are," the Nautolan Jedi tells her, his warm smile never fading. "Then we will discuss transport."

The sisters exchange annoyed glances.

They couldn't tell them the truth...or could they?

"We're with the senate. We're investigators."

It isn't a lie exactly. It's close to the truth. Very close, really.

Saché nods her agreement, then crosses her arms, arches one of her nonexistent eyebrows.

"We overheard a conversation not long ago, and if the two of you are caught you might meet an early end. Clear?"

"We really don't have time to discuss the particulars, when they start looking for you our time will be up. Let's get to your transport and we will tell you what we can there, okay?" Sabé adds, her voice rising in panic.

There's no telling when they'll start looking for the now vanished Jedi.

The two Jedi look at each other, exchange some silent communication of their own, and seem to decide on trusting the sisters.

Though the Mon Calimari seems less enthused about this than the Nautolan.

"Good," Sabé sighs, looking to Saché.

She already climbing onto the table, which wobbles and creaks under her weight, and prying the window above it open.

"Yeah, super," she grumbles, waving a hand absently.

Once the window is open, Saché tosses her bag over her shoulder and grabs the edges of the window, grunting as she pulls herself up and through.

Seconds later there's a thud of something hitting the ground outside and a hiss of pain.

Trying not to imagine what Saché has done to herself, Sabe climbs onto the table and proceeded to pull herself out after her sister.

She lands in a heap, stifling a cry of pain as she rolls out of the thorned bush she ended up in.

They barely manage to get to their feet, pretend to have any dignity left, when the Mon Calamari appears in front of them.

"Watch out," the Nautolan warns them as he peers down at them from the window.

The Nautolan, though several times their size, still manages to force himself out and lands deftly in front of them.

Somehow, they both land on their feet and avoid the bush.

Gathering their bags, the girls creep quietly along the wall in the direction of the port, staying close to the Jedi leading them. Sabé hopes this means he does indeed have transport.

They avoid a pair of rowdy drunks, both swearing in garbled Hutteese, and are nearly at their destination when a couple of the Alliga security officers stroll in front of them. Waving his hand, the Nautolan chuckles as the two seem to realize they forgot something very important on the other side of the port, mercifully taking them off in the opposite direction.

Running past various other ships, they find themselves in front of a battered cargo ship. Sabé questions its integrity, but doesn't get to voice her concern before Saché shoves her up the ramp.

"They may start firing on us when they see us leaving off schedule. They might think we stole the ship," the Mon Calamari tells the Nautolan.

He shrugs, wholly unconcerned. "Then we fire back."

The girls scramble to find seating, only to find there isn't any.

Instead, they grab a couple of straps used to secure boxes to the walls and secured themselves in as best they can.

"Oh kriff!" Saché shouts, nearly getting tossed from her makeshift harness.

As predicted, they've no more than left the ground when shots begin to fire.

The rickety ship shudder, the bangs thundering and echoing, non-stop as the ship's human cargo is tossed around inside.

"I'm gonna be sick!" Sabé moans as the ship spins, ceiling and ground switching far too fast.

"So much for a quiet getaway!" Saché laughs as she's thrown around, hit her lekku against an unsecured crate that had flown up.

It goes on for several minutes, spinning and yelling, deafening noise all around...

As suddenly as it started, it stops.

The ship levels off, the noise fades, and Sabé gently floats down, suspended upright only by her tangled straps.

Saché is still laughing, dangling in a tangle from the remnants of some old and unused bit of equipment, the strap she'd used having snapped and tangled around it.

Fighting her strap, Sabé frees herself before hurrying over and pulling out a vibroblade, slicing the still giggling Saché free.

"Did you hit your head?" Sabe asks, warily inspecting Saché's head for injury.

"Probably. I think that crate got me," she snickers, wobbling and holding onto Sabé for stability.

Her giggling stops seconds later.

"Now for those answers," a deep male voice tells them.

Straightening up, the sisters turn around and face the Jedi.

Shaking off her punch-drunkenness, Saché smiles. "Would you like to sit down?"

They're led into a tiny kitchen, seated around a small, battered table. The Jedi sit across from them, the Nautolan's expression pleasant and open, though expectant.

"Where shall we start?" Sabe asks, her Twi'lek accent still intact.

His tendrils twitch cheerfully. "Might we start with your names?

Saché's eyes glint mischievously.

"Saché," she gestures to herself and then to her sister, "and Sabé."

"Unusual names for Twi'lek's," he notes simply.

"Yes, they are, aren't they," Saché replies, still the picture of innocence.

She's not lying, not technically. She didn't say they were supposed to be Twi'lek names...and she did agree they were odd.

"You're with the Senate gathering intelligence?" The Mon Calamari repeats, looking dubious.

"Yes," Sabé answers this time. Again, not a lie, not technically.

Saché sits back in her chair, eyes the Nautolan with indisputable interest. "May we ask a question?"

"Of course."

"What's your name? Or should I simply call you master?"

His laugh is a rumble, warm and comforting, and his dark eyes twinkle mischievously.

"Kit Fisto," he gestures to himself, then to the Mon Calamari, "and my padawan, Nahdar Vebb."

"A handsome name for a handsome Nautolan," Saché tells him, ignoring the other Jedi.

"Now," Kit begins, sitting forward, his dark, unblinking eyes on the girls, ignoring Saché's attempts at flirting, "you said you overheard a conversation that referred to 'unwanted guests'. How do you know they were talking about us?"

"We don't. Not for certain. Very few things in life are certain though," Saché explains, still batting her eyes at Kit, "but out of all the people at that slum dump you two are candidates number one and two."

He nods in agreement, his expression more solemn than Sabé had yet seen it.

"I assume the two of you won't be opposed to going to Coruscant?" He asks, the think tentacles on his head swaying as he looks between them.

"Not at all," Sabé replies, glad to hear they'll be heading…well, not home exactly, but at least a familiar place.

A clean bed will do her wonders.

#######

Over the next several hours Master Fisto, or Kit as he reminds them to call him, questions them at length about the particulars of what they had heard. Though he has his doubts about the voice they heard having been Count Dooku's, he's still receptive to at least hearing them out.

"I can't imagine Count Dooku saying something like that. He was once a Jedi."

"So we've heard," Saché mutters dryly.

"People change," Sabé adds, remembering her long ago conversation with Obi-wan.

"Yes, they do. Such a drastic change though...it's hard to imagine," he explains, smile faultering.

Sabé widens her eyes, fixes Kit in a pleading look. Saché shoots her a dark look, already knowing what she's planning.

The sisters had disagreed, on multiple occasions, about whether they would ever ask for Jedi assistance. The opportunity has presented itself, though, and Sabé is taking it

Whether her sister approves or not.

"If you would-do you think we could persuade you to get the Council to speak with us? To share some of the information we've heard about the growing discontent and Count Dooku's participation?"

Kit's smile falters momentarily, he suspects they're up to something but he isn't sure what, but he decides to appease them.

"We Jedi are always willing to listen to what others have to say."

"Yes," Saché's expression darkens, "but are you willing to hear."

#######

By the time they arrive at the Jedi Temple in Coruscant it's very early in the morning.

A sliver of light from the sun falls across Sabé's face, waking her. Looking up, she sees Saché already awake, staring at the ceiling and flipping her fake lekku absently.

"Don't let anyone see you do that. I'm pretty sure it would hurt a real Twi'lek," Sabé mumbles into her pillow.

"They won't," Sache sighs.

"Are we at Coruscant yet?"

Sache rolls over, nods. "I heard them talking. We'll be landing in a few minutes."

Sabé frowns, rubs her head, wishing the false lekku were gone already and hoping for a shower soon.

"Are we going to keep pretending to be Twi'lek's? This body paint is getting itchy."

Scratching her arm, Saché grimaces, shakes her head.

"Nope, we're reporting to Padmé once we land then shower time."

"You've never said anything sweeter, Saché."

Saché snorts. "Well, I'm about to temper it with some sour."

She pulls her cloak on, which she'd been using as a blanket, and pulls the hood over her head, only her frown showing.

"Kit said the Council would like to talk to us, but they won't be ready to receive us for a few days. Apparently," she grunts in disgust, "the council plus a select few others will be there to ogle us."

Sabé sit up, makes a face. "Why?"

Why can't it just be the council?

"Because it's 'Very troubling, what these girls say is, mmm'," Saché repeats, holding her lekku up like tiny pointed ears, rolling her eyes. "I overheard Kit talking to that little green one earlier. The really wrinkled one from Master Jinn's funeral."

Despite being no more excited about the idea of having to present their many months' worth of intelligence to the Jedi than Sabé, Saché apparently hasn't been able to think of any way to worm out of it.

"You're doing all the talking," is the last she has to say on the matter, before getting up to look out the lone window.

Coruscant is a pretty planet, despite the overpopulation and the pollution.

The superskyscapers glitter in the early morning sun, shimmering like silk. Lighted signs dazzle even in the bright of a new day. It's mesmerizing, even to Sabé, who's seen it hundreds of times.

When they land at the Temple Sabé takes the opportunity to look around as they're briskly ushered out by a pair of young boys.

The Jedi Temple isn't a place outsiders often find themselves. It really is quite magnificent. High ceilings, large, bright windows, it's open and airy but Sabé can't help but feel uneasy. There's something too reserved, unnaturally quiet, and unbelievably cold about the place.

Her feet barely make any sound as she hurries along beside Saché, who also seems to be taking in the rare sight of the inside of the Temple.

Her face is expressionless, but small gestures, movements, the stiffness of her walk, give away the fact that she doesn't care much for the place either.

As they reach the front steps one of the boys turns and asks with practiced civility, "Do you need us to hail an air taxi for you?"

Sabé smiles, shakes her head "No, sweetness, we can manage."

Saché winks at them, causing one to turn a deep shade of crimson and the other to pale.

Once outside they hail the air taxi easily. There's hardly much competition out at this early hour.

Saché tosses in their glittery bag and yawns broadly before ducking in.

"You probably gave those two heart attacks," Sabé finally tells her, once they're strapped in.

"Oh, posh. That was probably the best thing that'll happen to them all day." Saché rubs one of her lekku, still keeping up the act of being a Twi'lek. "Eerie place, huh?"

Sabé grunts her agreement.

They're quiet the rest of the way, the excitement of their walk through forbidden territory too brief to give them much gossip.

When they arrived in front of Padmé's apartment building they're both very itchy and have the smell of stale smoke from the taxi clinging to their clothes. They enter through the service entrance, up the cold turbo, then bolt for the showers.

Sabé emerges an hour later, toweling her gloriously freed hair, smelling fresh and crisp.

She nearly trips over the hem of her robe when she finds not just Saché sitting on the bed waiting for her, but also Padmé.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Padmé teases, getting up and hugging her. "I'm glad you're alright."

"We thought you might have drowned in there," Saché adds, shaking her head dramatically. "I'd have had to go get Kit to come in and save you."

Sabé throws her towel at her.

"Oh, shut it, you're the one with a crush on him." She crosses her arms, rubs at a patch of dry skin. "That dye remover is old and then I had to double moisturize because my skin is all icky now."

"Yeah, I noticed," Saché agrees, scratching her neck. "Can we get hazard pay, Padmé? Just a little. For moisturizer and dye remover."

Padmé chuckles. "Sure. Submit your forms to the committee over funds and it's all yours."

Saché flops back on the bed. "I'd have better luck selling spice at the Jedi Temple."

Rolling her eyes, Padmé settles back down on the bed, turns her attention to the less dramatic sister.

"Saché said you two are going to speak with the Jedi Council in a couple of days. She's briefed me on everything you've found. Not much new."

Sighing theatrically, Saché doesn't even sit up. "Not a damn thing."

#######

They rest for a day before beginning to sift through their seemingly endless intelligence.

"Is there any kind of order to this?" Padmé asks, eyeing the mess in undisguised horror.

"Nope. None whatsoever," Saché chirps, a little too happy about her sloppy documentation skills.

"We were in a bit of a hurry," Sabé explains. They're always in a hurry it seems.

There are notes handwritten on napkins and candy wrappers, photos of varying quality, holorecordings, and then whatever they managed to actually log on their data pads.

It's a mess, but that's hardly something they can fix in a few days.

"We'll be a little neater from here on out," she promises.

Saché snorts. "Doubtful."

They're still adding information the night before their meeting is scheduled.

"I shouldn't have agree to this," Sache mutters, pressing her fingers to her eyes.

Sabé nods in silent agreement and picks at her meal of cold takeout and warm wine.

"This is going to be a nightmare."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

"-for your future calls you ever-ever onnnn!" Saché sings, dancing around wildly in the back of the taxi, her hair flailing.

The driver, an irritable Toydarian who reeks of cheap cologne, glares at her in the rear view mirror, muttering swears at her with each turn. Saché hardly seems to care.

"You're a lunatic you know that right? We'll be lucky if the driver takes us all the way to the Temple," Sabé warns her, voice low enough the driver won't hear.

Shaking off the criticism, Saché continues her dance, singing louder when the Toydarian makes a sharp comment about Corellia.

She finally begins composing herself when the Temple slides into view.

"This is going to be a disaster, you do know that, right?"

Sabé ignores her and gives the grumpy driver his pay, quickly exiting the cab and pushing her sister out when she hears him muttering about 'obnoxious Corellian whores'

"I'm only half-Corellian, you scruffy, scum sucking-"

"Saché!"

Settling for a rude gesture, Saché straightens her dress and turns to Sabé.

"Are you finished?"

Crossing her arms, Saché nods.

Finally, Sabé turns to the temple and feels her stomach roll.

It seems even larger than when they'd left it. Cold and impossibly uninviting.

Judging by her sister's grim expression and stiff posture, Saché feels the same.

"Let's get this over with," she finally grumbles, pulling her cloak tighter around her body and heading up the steps.

The main hall is chilly, despite the warm sunlight streaming in. Across from the entrance they spot a large desk with a lone female figure setting behind it. She's occupied with a pair of children, directing them with her bony fingers to somewhere down the hall.

Once the children are on their way down the hall, the old woman's eyes drop back to the desk.

Sabé steps forward, waits, but the woman ignores her.

"Hello there," Sabé finally greets her, when it becomes obvious she's not going to acknowledge them.

Slowly, the woman's eyes rise, brows arching as she takes in the pair. She doesn't so much as smile.

"I'm afraid you're lost," she finally says, gaze dropping back to the datapad on the desk. "The Crimson Corridor is about ten kilometers from here."

The smile slips from Sabé's face and Saché's teeth grind.

"We're here to see the Council," Saché tells her, words clipped. "We're terribly important."

Eyes raising, appraising them once more, the woman sighs and looks at her datapad.

"Lindzee?"

Sabé nods, forces a smile. "That would be us."

Raising an aged hand, the woman points wordlessly at a turbolift, down the hall and to the left.

Muttering a thank you, Sabé grabs her sister and hurries down the hall, half running onto the turbo.

"That dried up old hag," Saché mutters as the turbo jettisons them up. She looks down at her dress. "We stole these out of Padmé's closet!"

Sabé frowns, inspecting her own dress until the doors silently slide open.

Smoothing her dress, Sabé takes a breath and steps out into another wide, airy hall. She exchanges a worried look with Saché. Where do they go?

It's empty except for a female Togruta, waiting across from the turbo, eyeing them curiously.

"Lost?"

Saché rolls her eyes. "No, we always look like this."

The Togruta stares blankly, uncertain how to respond until Sabé intervenes.

"We're here to speak with the council," she explains, though she suspects the woman already knows that. "Could you direct us?"

The Togruta Jedi nods and silently leads them down the hall, then turns and walks a short way further until they're in front of an entrance and the Togruta turns back to them.

"The meeting hasn't started yet. If you both would wait here."

She vanishes into the room, leaving the girls standing in the noiseless hall.

"This place is weirdly cold," Saché whispers, pulling her hood further down on her face and hugging herself.

Sabé copies her, shivering as the chill in the air permeates to her bones, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

Nearly an hour passes before the door reopens and one of the Jedi comes and beckons the girls.

"Finally," Saché mutters, scowling as she follows Sabé in.

The moment she's in the room she wishes she were back in the hall.

If the Jedi think this is a few members, they can't be trusted with counting.

There are Jedi everywhere. They're seated around the room, standing along the walls, and a few resting on the window ledges. Their presence seems to suck all the warmth from the air, setting Sabé's already frayed nerves on edge.

Glancing over, she finds Saché looks no happier than she feels. Her expression is impassive, but Sabé can read her body language as easily as basic.

She's furious and certain they're planning something.

"Good morning ladies," the cheerful voice of Kit Fisto greets them.

"Good morning, Master Kit," Saché answers, her expression warming fractionally.

Kit's grin widens, his nonexistent eyebrows rising. "No longer Twi'leks I see."

Saché's lips twitch up as she shrugs. "It would seem not."

"Very impressive. It's not every day someone is able to fool a Jedi with a simple disguise," a bald, dark skinned man's clear voice comments, earning a rumble of agreement.

"Simple?" Saché's voice rises. "Those disguises were hardly simple Do you know the trouble it is to work with lekku?" She looks at Sabé, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Simple, Sabs."

Sabé almost laughs at Saché's indignation.

"You're quite gifted mimics. And quite accomplished liars, too," the bald Jedi notes as he presses his fingers together, gazing at them unhappil.

"Liars?" Saché actually manages to look confused. "When did we lie?"

Kit chuckles. "You said you were with the Senatorial Bureau of Intelligence."

"No," Sabé corrects him, shaking her head. "We said we were with the senate and that we are investigators."

"All perfectly true," Saché points out, still maintaining a look of absolute innocence.

Kit laughs, the tentacles on his head twitching in amusement. "Yes, I suppose it is."

None of the other Jedi find the misunderstanding as amusing as Kit though, whose laughter quickly dies out.

"Master Fisto tells us you have information about some political outsiders we've been following for some time," a polished Cerean finally says, his stern eyes focused on the girls.

"Yes," Sabé answers, trying to keep her voice even.

Reaching into her handbag, willing her hands not to shake from cold and nerves, she pulls a small data file from inside and gently places it on the projector.

The images she and Saché had carefully loaded onto it spring up, systems and planets they had visited that show sympathies toward Count Dooku, a somewhat incomplete list of people and organizations as well, and images from the hobnob parties and a few from closed door meetings they had managed to spy on.

Taking a breath of the icy air, Sabé forces a smile.

"For nearly a year now my sister and I have been investigating the 'Separatists', as they are called, gathering intelligence on their intentions and those whose sympathies lie with them…" Sabé clicks a small device in her hand and several labeled planets come into focus, "From what we can gather these are the key systems with leanings toward their ideals." Another click and many of the various organizations, the Trade Federation among them, pop up, "These groups have all felt the pangs of the taxation levies. They feel they are being unfairly targeted and unjustly punished for doing well and are receiving little to no compensation for their pains."

Which, unless they'd been living under a rock in the Outer Rim, they should already know.

Pausing, she takes a breath before continuing, "The most troubling of all this isn't their seeming desire to leave the Republic, which is well within their rights as it is, but the particular assortment of individual and organizations being courted. They are all strong and disillusioned, no doubt, their financial backing is considerable, but they also have another common thread: either the capability to create or the possession of armies."

"This is what worries Senator Amidala. It's as though they want to go to war. They're gearing themselves for a bloody revolt. There have been talks in the Senate about forming an army, which the Senator feels would only further antagonize the radicals, it would show a lack of willingness to use negotiations and a readiness to use brute force."

"Agree with Senator Amidala on this point, I do," the little green Jedi Sabé recognized from Master Jinn's funeral says, tapping his cane to punctuate his point.

"This is all very fascinating, but why exactly did you want to tell us all this?" A dark skinned woman asks.

Saché's expression gets grimmer as she takes the lead.

"Because, we have proof that among the main recruiters is a former Jedi, Count Dooku."

The low hum that fills the quiet room is sucked out the instant the name leaves her lips, but Saché battles on.

"His intentions, from what we have been able to gather, are less than amicable toward the Republic. It almost seems as if he is intentionally trying to goad us into a confrontation, he wants the Republic to strike against the dissention to give them validation. Which it would undoubtedly do. We believe he is willing to go to great lengths to ensure these ends."

She stops, glances around the room to make sure she's got their full attention, then continues.

"As you saw the Trade Federation was among the groups leaning toward cession, and as you know they harbor no kind feelings toward Naboo or our Senator and former Queen. We fear their intense dislike of Senator Amidala coupled with the desire to push the Republic into further instability by creating an army, which she will continue to fight tooth and nail, are catalyst for assassination attempts. We've been informed that Count Dooku has had contact with bounty hunters, further adding to our suspicion. He's been becoming more…aware of our presence. Actively avoiding us, despite our best efforts. We would like Jedi assistance in gathering evidence of the Count's consolidation of forces to use against the Republic and, if necessary, detain him."

The last of the warmth seems to evaporate from the room.

Something, a buzz or a vibration, something supernatural, permeates the air, and Sabé pulls her cloak tighter to her body, wondering if it's the force and all its wielders she's feeling suffocating her in cold and white noise or nerves.

Looking at Saché, she already knows her sister's assessment of the situation.

A waste of time. They'll get no help here. Protecting Padmé and chasing the ghosts threatening the Republic is going to fall to them.

After several minutes the bald, dark skinned Jedi finally turns to them, grim expression intact.

"What you tell us is undeniably unsettling. We have long been aware of something brewing, growing stronger within the Republic and you have shed some light on certain particulars of that. However on the point of Count Dooku we must disagree. As a former Jedi it is against his nature to even plot such a thing as murder."

"Former Jedi, sweetness," Saché reminds him, eyes narrowed, smile cold.

"Leaving the order doesn't change a person's basic nature," the Cerean tells her, seeming to think he's explaining something exceedingly simple.

"The Jedi are hardly infallible," Sabé counters softly, trying to keep her sister from ripping the Council apart right then and there. "Perhaps another part of his personality is seeking to serve a higher purpose? One that demands some small sacrifice?"

"Perhaps he feels it's the will of the Force?" Saché mutters darkly.

"Valid, your concerns are. Unlikely, though, I feel they are," the little green Jedi tells them, leaning on his cane, humming an agreement to himself after.

"You feel?" Saché grinds her teeth. "I'm sorry Master…whoever you are, but I would rather place the life of my friend in the hands of some kind of facts rather than your feelings. I wasn't even aware Jedi had feelings."

"Miss, you're upset," the bald Jedi notes, his brow furrowing, apparently confused by her tone.

"Am I? Was my blatant mockery enough to clue you in or did you have to use the Force to divine that?" Saché snaps, all pretense gone.

"Saché!" Sabé hisses. She needs to get herself under control.

Saché takes a deep breath, teeth grinding as she continues to glare, lips still tight in an insincere smile.

"My apologies. I'm sure you can understand why I'm upset. You're shaking off our concerns with very little thought. You haven't even discussed this. We aren't asking you to smother the man in his sleep, just help us monitor him. Bring him in if need be."

"Monitor him, we will," the little Jedi croaks, cutting her off. "Too few of us, there are, to supervise him as you want. Spread thin, the Jedi are. Many pressing matters at this time that demand our attention, there are."

Sabé deflates.

They'll not receive any aide from the Jedi.

Saché lets out a long breath, glancing at Sabé.

This is, no doubt, exactly what she'd expected. She has no faith in the Jedi, but Sabé does, and the sting of the rejection is enough to make her want to cry.

They're supposed to help protect the galaxy, but they won't even consider it.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sabé dips in a little bow. "Thank you for your time."

Saché snatches up the data file from the projector and gives a terse bow of her own before marching out, Sabé at her heels.

Once they're on the turbo lift Saché roars in agitation, "Bastards! Arrogant-self-absorbed, Hutt-tails!"

"I was sure they would help," Sabé mumbles to herself while Saché rants on.

"How can they be so blind!" She half shouts, then drops her voice in an imitation of the bald Jedi, "He's a former Jedi, he's above such things. Idiots!"

Pulling her hood down over her entire face she muffles a scream of frustration.

#######

"It'll be the end of them soon if they don't pull their pompous little skulls out of their asses," Saché grumbles as they exit the turbo and hurry to the exit.

Sabé smiles sadly, nods in resignation.

"I know, Sach. But losing your head isn't going to get us anywhere."

Saché snorts. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was a delight."

Clearly Saché's definition of a delight is wildly divergent from everyone else's.

"You were awful." Entertaining, but awful.

"Ah well," Saché shrugs, unconcerned with her behavior, "I'm not sorry. Everyone needs put in their place, even the all-powerful Jedi."

"If that's what you call it," Sabé sighs, stepping out the front doors of the temple and into the warmth to hail an air-taxi.

"Sabé?"

The voice is familiar but different. Older and stronger, but still easily recognizable.

Turning, Sabé feels her heart speed up at the sight of the man stepping closer, smiling at her.

"It is you."

Obi-wan smiles warmly, melting the cold of the temple a little bit.

"Obi-wan," Sabé grins, unable to stop herself. "I-how are you?"

He shrugs. "As well as ever."

His smile drops fractionally when he greets Saché, probably sensing her sour mood. "Hello there."

Saché grunts a salutation.

Obi-wan raises his eyebrows in question and Sabé grimaces.

"We, er…had a meeting with the Council. Saché…it didn't go as well as we'd hoped," she answers his look.

"Oh?" He frowns. "May I ask why?"

"They're jerks," Saché grumbles before cutting her eyes to Obi-wan. "What's up with your hair?"

Sabé bites her lip. "Well, yes, but…oh Saché, go get the taxi."

Saché shrugs then wanders off, muttering to herself again.

"Sorry about her," Sabé apologizes.

Obi-wan, simply smiles. "I highly doubt you have any control over her, or that anyone does for that matter."

Grimacing, Sabé nods before taking a chance to take in his appearance.

She hadn't seen him since before she and Saché had been set on the Count.

His hair is longer, and she can't say it suits him. His beard is scrubbier, not as neatly kept as she would have expected. His eyes are the same though, sweet and twinkling, just as she remembers, and his smile is as handsome as ever.

Her nose scrunches up when she notices his clothes. "You just get back?"

He's got bits of plant debris clinging to his tunic and muck is caked on his boots. It stands out against the stark cleanliness of the Temple.

He vaguely notes his attire. "Oh, yes."

Reaching out, Sabé plucks a piece of some unknown plant from his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground with a plop.

"Very stylish. I imagine it'll be replacing shimmer silk on the runways soon."

"That is my dearest hope," he chuckles before taking in her appearance. "What exactly were you and your ever charming sister discussing with the Council? If I may ask."

"A great deal, that came to no end I'm afraid," she answers, knowing it's no answer at all but unsure how much she should divulge.

"That's…vague."

"Yes, well, your friends in there will probably give you a lovely account of our exploits. That's why we we're here, we we're trying to…recruit? I guess you could say. It ended…badly," she explains, gesturing hopelessly.

He glances towards Saché, at the bottom of the steps, grumbling darkly to herself.

"I would have never guessed."

Sabé makes a face. "Yeah."

Hoping to change the subject, she turns from Saché, and realizes he's missing his most prominent accessory.

"Where's Anakin?"

He gives a long suffering sigh. "He's off at a retreat. I'm free of him for at least three days."

Sabé frowns. "Don't say that. I know you're fond of him, even if he is a bit…trying."

"I suppose," he agrees. "He does have a few strong points I suppose."

"You'll finds them someday."

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "I hope so."

Feeling a bit awkward and sweaty under the rising sun, Sabé jerks her head toward Saché.

"I think I should remove her from the premises."

"I'll see you out," he tells her, gesturing toward the steps.

He walk beside her, until they're at the bottom of the steps, several yards from Saché who'd rushed off to hail the taxi when she spotted Sabé coming.

Obi-wan bows his head slightly. "It was good to see you again Sabé."

"Yes," Sabé pauses, her mouth beating her good sense as she suddenly she blurts out, "Do you want to get dinner tonight?"

She isn't sure what prompts her to do it, the heat of the sun thawing her too quickly, or maybe simple stupidity, but the second the question is out she wants to take it back. She's only hurting herself.

Obi-wan, however, is oblivious to her distress.

"That would be nice. Do you have any particular place in mind?"

Sabé freezes. She hadn't expected him to say yes. "No, not really."

"There's a small diner, Dex's, I doubt you'll have been there before. It might be an interesting change," he offers.

Sabé nods, a little too enthusiastically, barely manages to not stumble over her words. "Oh-yes, that's-that's fine. Just send me directions."

"I'll see you tonight then. Nineteen hundred?"

Sabé continues to nod stupidly, unable to stop herself.

"I expect to be given a more complete rendition of why you were here," he tells her as she backs away, toward her sister.

"Of course, and the same about your little adventures," she calls back, nearly tripping.

Saché arches an eyebrow as her sister approaches. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," Sabé answers, forcing her grin down.

Saché narrows her eyes, her lips flattening into a line. "Oh Sabé..."

"No. Get in the taxi."

She pushes her sister into the cab and crawls in after her, pulling the door shut with her foot.

Straightening up, Sabé turns to her sister, already wearing an uncharacteristically serious expression, and holds up a hand before she can speak.

"I know what you're going to say. I know we're just friends. I'm not getting any ideas."

"Are you sure?" Saché's voice is low and full of concern. "Sabs, I've watched you pine for that ninny for nearly ten years. Don't set yourself up for disappointment."

"I won't," Sabé promises. "We're just friends."

Saché snorts loudly, earning them a look from the driver. She frowns deeply at her sister, nose wrinkled in worry and dislike of the situation.

"Please be careful Sabs. I mean it. And you know me, I hardly ever mean anything."

"And I mean it," Sabé tries to fix a reassuring expression on her face. "It's just two old friends getting together to catch up. Nothing more."

Sighing loudly, Saché shakes her head at her, still thoroughly unconvinced.

"He's still a Jedi. And I don't trust them. Especially not with you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

Pulling her hair up and into a simple twist, Sabé sweeps a critical eye over her appearance.

It doesn't matter, not really, but she wants to look nice.

She'd borrowed a dress from Padmé's closet, dark blue and loose, flutters at the bottom when she walks. It's not showy, simple but stylish. Perfect for meeting a friend.

Saché hadn't mentioned the impending dinner since they had arrived back at the apartment and had only grunted an acknowledgement when Sabé had told her where she was going to meet Obi-wan.

"The Jedi have no understanding of true nature because they are all so in denial about their own," she'd warned Sabé, after they'd run into Obi-wan and Anakin all those months ago. "They deny their emotions because they fear them, though I doubt they'll admit that. It's dangerous, and it's not just them that'll pay for their lack of understanding. Remember that Sissy."

Sabé had turned her sister's caution over in her head innumerable times in the past months, but always comes to the same conclusion: Obi-wan isn't like the other Jedi. He's warm and kind and doesn't emanate that aloof, intangible air of otherworldly knowledge she so often feels around the other Jedi she's met. Perhaps she's in denial, but it makes sense to her.

"Take this." A small blaster lands with a soft thud on the bed behind her.

Turning, she finds Saché leaning on the door frame, still looking dour.

Picking up the blaster, Sabé places it gently in a strap at her hip. "Thanks."

"I will be waiting up, and if you're not back by twenty-three hundred I'm coming out looking for you. You can tell Kenobi that."

Sabé gives her a wry smile. "I'm sure that'll have him shaking in his boots."

"It had better. Tell him I'll storm that overly elaborate funeral chamber they call a temple and hold it hostage until you come back," she adds, her expression still stony.

"Right," Sabé sighs.

Grabbing her sister, Sabé pulls her into a tight hug.

"I'll see you later."

"You'd better."

After releasing her, she then walks quickly out of the room and throws her cloak over her shoulders before disappearing out the door.

#######

Dex's Diner is a shabby little dive in Coco town.

The air is heavy with grease and smoke, and the clientele look blue-collared and tired. She's been in far worse, but still, it sets her wrong footed when she steps in. She's a bit over-dressed, one of the draw backs of raiding a senator's closet.

"Lookin' for something, miss?"

Turning, Sabé finds a Besalisk wearing a grease stained apron, leaning over a counter. He grins toothily and crosses one of his sets of arms.

Sabé forces a smile and is about to respond when a familiar voice answers for her. "She's with me, Dex."

Turning quickly on the spot,Sabé finds Obi-wan standing only a few feet from her and reaching out to pull her back with him toward a booth in the corner of the diner.

The Besalisk, Dex, grins and gives Sabé an appreciative once over. "Shoulda guessed. You're too pretty just to have stumbled in by accident."

Sabé forces one of her bright but blank smiles, before allowing Obi-wan to guide her to his booth.

Once she slide into the seat, the cracked plastic cutting at her legs, Sabé begins fidgeting with the hem of her dress. All the topics she'd run through in her head get stuck in her throat now that she's in front of him.

Obi-wan clearly has no such problem.

"I've heard some rather interesting stories," he begins, a calm expression on his face, "about you and Saché's exploits."

Of course he'd heard. Damn.

Sabé tries and fails to fight off a grimace. "Oh…how bad did it sound?"

Setting back, he crosses his arms over his chest and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"You were dressed as Twi'leks. You tricked one of the masters and used him to aid in escaping and get you a meeting with the Council. You have apparently been spying on behalf of your senator, which is not illegal, but is also not supported. You have accused a former Jedi of possible conspiracy to commit murder, and your sister, quite unabashedly, insulted the entire Jedi Order."

Sabé nods thoughtfully.

"That's a fairly accurate summation." She scrunches her nose in thought. "Though we never tricked Master Kit. We just-he interpreted the facts wrong."

And that is not their fault.

He chuckles. "Yes, well, I'm afraid the Council was not impressed with that sleight of hand. No matter how clever."

Sabé feels her face warm.

"It was necessary. Unfortunate, but necessary."

"I'm sure it was." He sighs. "And Saché's little…appraisal of the Order?"

Sabé shifts, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He's got to be angry with Saché's harsh words for the Order.

"Saché-she just gets a little…annoyed, when she feels she's being disregarded. And believe me, she felt quite disregarded during our little meeting today."

And insulted, but she keeps that to herself.

He sits back, strokes his beard thoughtfully. "The Council can be very frustrating with their ways sometimes."

"To say the least," Sabé mutters.

Obi-wan smiles tensely.

"Why have you been investigating Count Dooku? That does seem more the job of the Republic's Intelligence."

Sabé frowns. It should be clear why they've been doing what they have.

"We are working with Naboo's Intelligence. It's our job to keep the Senator safe and it's become increasingly apparent that the Separatists are a looming threat to her because of her beliefs." She paused, takes a deep breath. "Saché and I volunteered. Padmé is like family to us and we want her to be safe. The best way to do that was to use our resources to bring down those that wish to harm her."

An odd look settles on his face.

"The two of you being uniquely qualified for undercover work helps, I suppose?"

Sabé politely feigns confusion.

Obi-wan's lips twitch up and his eyebrow rise. "You didn't think you could have a meeting with the High Council and not have them check your background?"

A cold dread fills her stomach.

She hadn't really thought too much about that.

Though she knew it was likely, she'd hoped they wouldn't be able to discover their identities through their disguises. She and Saché's history was miniscule and irrelevant at best.

Having lived several years in a remote valley in Naboo, records of their lives were few: school records, testing scores that got them into the academy at Theed, applications to become Handmaidens…all of which were sealed when they entered Naboo's Intelligence. Not that being sealed meant they were impossible to find, especially for Jedi. However it was things of less than sterling quality she worried about. Things not necessarily about Saché and herself directly.

"Your grandmother was Lorrdian. I imagine that was as large a part as your resemblance to the queen as to why you were chosen to be decoy."

He waits for a reaction. When none comes, he reaches forward and stills her hands, now shredding a napkin to pieces. She pulls them back and places them in her lap.

"I guess," she admits.

Glaring at her hands, she mulls over all the horrid things the Jedi had pulled up on her family.

Not that any of it was secret, but most of the time it was overlooked due to she and Saché's pristine records of service to the former Queen and now Senator. In general they were able to avoid it, especially since leaving their homeworld.

"Sabé…"

She swallows down bile rising in her throat.

"Did they just look for reasons to discredit us-dig up every nasty little thing they could about our family?"

He shifts uncomfortably, glances around, maybe preparing for an outburst before answering.

"They were very thorough." Scooting closer to the table he leans in. "I don't think they were trying to discredit you. Just getting an idea as to who they were dealing with. If it's any consolation it took two masters and nearly a dozen padawans to put together the file on the two of you and your family. After they figured out who the two of you were, that is. They said they've not seen such an extensive list of aliases and false trails in quite some time. They nearly postponed the meeting because of it."

A small, satisfied smile forms on Sabé's face. At least they'd caused some trouble for the nosy Jedi, even if it still cost her some dignity.

"Sabé, whatever they did or didn't find it doesn't make a difference to me you know?" His tells her, his expression still kind.

Sabé can't help but scowl at him.

"How could it not?" She swallows hard, fighting to keep from imitating her sister and insulting the entire Order. "Nammy was a Madam, my mother was a mentally unstable spice addict who overdosed when her married boyfriend-my father-vanished from the galaxy, and my sister and I were raised above a brothel until Lorrd closed down the business. We only have any good standing because we were recruited into the handmaidens. We weren't exactly brought up in a stable environment."

"And yet you've flourished. I trust you, and though you aren't always completely honest you do so out of duty, loyalty to the people you care about."

Letting out a long sigh, Sabé shakes her head.

"Most people don't feel that way. Nammy tried to protect us, that's why she chose Naboo after her business was shut down. People there are less harsh. Nam told us our dad's family even took legal action so we couldn't use his name or claim any right to family money back on Corellia."

When Obi-wan doesn't say anything, Sabé continues, "I don't think anyone could look at where we came from and expect to find good people."

"You are good, Sabé."

"Is that why they dismissed our evidence so easily?" Sabé asks, ignoring his attempts at comfort.

"No," he frowns. "They honestly don't believe Count Dooku is capable of this kind of deception."

"Do you?" She asks, finally meeting his eyes, fixing him in a wary stare.

He sits back and strokes his beard then shakes his head. "He was Qui-Gon's master. I don't-can't believe he would do such a thing. Even if he is a former Jedi, as your charming sister is so quick to point out."

Sabé sharpens her glare. "My charming sister may be harsh with her criticisms but that doesn't make them wrong."

Obi-wan's eyebrows rise. "I'm not trying to fight with you."

A moment passes, then another.

"I-I know." Sabé sighs, shoulders sagging in defeats. She presses her fingers to her eyes before forcing a smile. "I'm sorry."

He smiles.

"And I'm impressed. You were able to hide the fact that you weren't a Twi'lek from Master Fisto. He understands lekku language, you know?"

Sabé finally feels her mouth pull up at the sides and she shrugs.

"We are very good at what we do." She shrugs. "Plus it's easier to fake it when the lights are flashing and everyone has had a few drinks."

She leaves out that she and Saché had grown up around Dalmaa and Daalia Cato, media moguls and Twi'leks, and that they'd taught the sisters lekku language from a young age. It was an extension of their kinetic language, simple as exhaling to them.

He nods, clearly amused with the tactics.

"Impressive, quite impressive."

"Yes," Sabé agrees. "It is."

#######

The rest of the evening is spent more amicably.

They discuss some of the girls' more interesting undertakings for Naboo Intelligence, names and locations changed to protect no one, and Obi-wan entertains her with tales of his and Anakin's various, much more dangerous, exploits.

"I can't believe some of the stuff the two of you get up to," Sabé laughs as she sets her drink down, nearly tipping it over.

"It's hardly any worse than any of the things you've told me about," he chuckles.

Sabé shrugs. "We're never in any real danger. We aren't really important and could easily be denied as agents. There'd be no reason to keep us and they'd hardly get any ransom out of us. A couple of Jedi on the other hand…"

From what she's heard, Jedi on the black market fetch a considerable price.

He chuckles at her assessment before glancing at his chrono, his eyes widened. "Nearly twenty-three thirty, we should be going."

"Oh stang!" Sabé yelps. "Saché's gonna flip!"

Obi-wan looks amusement. "Why is that? Other than being herself I mean?"

Sabé quickly scoots out of the booth and pulls her cloak tighter around herself in preparation for the trek through Coco town.

"She said if I wasn't home by twenty-three hundred she'd be out looking for me, and trust me, she will be."

Saché will be climbing the steps to the temple if Sabé is much later.

She begins to quickly say her goodbye when Obi-wan, with his unnatural speed, rises deftly to her side to escort her out the door.

"Shouldn't we pay?"

"Don't worry, I have a tab," Obi-wan quietly tells her as he raised his hand in goodbye to the Besalisk.

Sabé expects him to hail an air taxi for her once they reach the outside and bid her a goodnight, however once he's helped her in, he seats himself in beside her.

She shoots him a questioning look and he smiles.

"You can't expect me to send a lady out at this hour by herself can you? Very ungentlemanly of me."

Sabé rolls her eyes playfully but appreciates the gesture all the same

The ride back to the apartment is short and uneventful.

The florescent lights of the shops and bars flash by the windows and reflect off the surfaces in the taxi, giving it a rushed, obscene feel. It's almost like a scene from one of Saché's holodramas with Luke Absolem. Even though her night has no chance of ending like those sordid stories, the thought is exciting just the same.

No sooner has Obi-wan helped her out of the taxi, when her ears are assaulted by a mangled whaling.

"Sabelle Antilles Lindzee! I warned you!"

Saché has her by the shoulders, hugging her fiercely before turning and jabbing a long, manicured finger into Obi-wan's chest.

"You," She hisses, glaring up at him, apparently unable to articulate anything more

Gently pushing her sister's hand down, Sabé forces her voice to stay calm.

"Saché, I'm a big girl and I'm not that late. We just lost track of time. No reason to get blaster-happy."

Saché's glare cuts to Sabé and she huffs. "No comm, you don't answer when I message you, and then I find your comm sitting on the dresser!"

She holds up the device, shoving it into Sabé's face.

Wincing, Sabé mutters an inaudible apology. She'd simply forgotten it.

"A likely story," Saché grumbles.

"I'm sorry for getting her home late. We really did just lose track of time," Obi-wan explains, his expression contrite.

Cool glare still in place, Saché simply huffs.

Sabé, trying to diffuse her volatile sister, pulls her away, forces a smile. "I'll be up in a minute. Just cool down, alright?"

"Cool down?" Saché looks exasperated. "Cool down? Sabé I have been worried to death."

"I'm not that late."

"An hour," Saché's expression darkens, mouth a thin line and eyes narrow. "You're lucky I didn't head out earlier. If Typho hadn't held me up I'd be in Coco Town by now."

"I'll be sure to thank Typho then," Sabé comments dryly.

Saché isn't amused.

Someone behind them coughs. The girls turn and find Obi-wan behind them.

"I should be going," he tells them, no doubt eager to escape the awkward situation Saché has created.

"Oh, of course," Sabé murmurs, feeling disappointment settle over her. Damn Saché and those holodramas.

"It was nice catching up Sabé," he tells her as he reaches out and takes her hand, puts it to his lips, giving it a soft little kiss before turning to the other girl and nodding civilly. "Saché."

"Kenobi," Saché returns the nod without any hint of a smile.

Taking a deep breath he turns and is back at the taxi and gone before Sabé fully registers what's happened.

"Must you always be so rude?" Sabé grumbles, slumping off toward the entrance without waiting for a response.

"I was worried! For all I knew you were kidnapped, dying or dead, or stars only knows." Her chin trembles slightly and her voice cracks. "Sabé, you're the only person in this world I have left. I worry. I'm your big sister. I'm supposed to protect you."

Sabé's heart constructs. "I know Sach...but I can take care of myself. You can't protect me from everything, no more than I can protect you."

Saché sighs. "I know. Won't keep me from trying though."

Linking arms, they began to make their way to the sliding doors.

Sabé, though happy to have made up with her sister, still feels the pangs of disappointment at having not been able to properly see Obi-wan off. However that may have been.

Saché apparently reads her downcast mood. "What were you planning Sabé?"

"Nothing," she answers. Which is true. She'd had hopes, but no plans.

"Uh-uh." Saché's eyebrow pull together and she frowns again. "Sabs you said you wouldn't do this to yourself. He's not good enough for you."

"He's too good for me, more like," Sabé mutters, pulling the ties from her hair.

Saché shakes her head. "No he isn't. Don't let him make you think that."

"He wouldn't. I know you don't like the Jedi for whatever reason, but Obi-wan isn't like all the rest."

She sounds foolish and desperate and she knows it, but she wants Saché to understand, even just a little bit. "

"He's my friend. He cares about me in his way, and he's not stringing me along. I enjoy his company."

Saché runs a hand over her face and sighs, her smile full of pity.

"I know he's your friend and you like to be around him, a little too much sometimes. I don't doubt that he cares about you in some weird way...but they don't care like the rest of us. They've been brought up not to. When it comes down to it, you're just one more insignificant bug to him. He may not be stringing you along purposely, but he isn't using that lovely force power of his to sense he may be doing it unconsciously."

She re-links her arm through her sister's and pulls her toward the lift.

"He's cute, Sissy, and he's nice enough, but there are plenty of cute, nice enough guys out there without all that stupid Jedi baggage trailing along behind them."

Nodding, Sabé keeps her thoughts to herself. They'll never agree on this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

"Ah, my two favorite words: Open. Bar"

Saché holds up a glass and inspects it against the light, and deciding it's sufficiently mixed, takes a drink.

She smiles over at a Togruta and then winks at a Sullustan before turning back to her sister.

"Padmé needs to up our pay grade. Coming to these Congressional parties is akin to torture. Here, take another drink."

Sabé declines with a roll of her eyes.

"I've had enough. Who do I look like? Keli Cato?"

Shrugging, Saché sets the second drink down.

Sabé titters, supports herself with a chair, as Saché forces a smile and tells a Rodian representative she's too tired to dance. A lie if she's ever heard one. Saché could dance until the core imploded.

She's just drunk, and getting meaner by the minute.

"We need to escape," she finally whispers, linking her arm with Sabé's. "You're gonna fall over. Maybe Aisha is on planet, she'll pick us up."

Sabé almost points out that Saché has drank twice what she has, but trips over her own feet and decides not to goad her. Saché has the tolerance of a Hutt for drink, but also their labile mood. There's no telling what she'll do if they don't leave soon. Tell off the entire Senate or propose to the handsome Senator from Glee Anselm. She's either the sweetest or the meanest drunk, there is no in between.

They scan the room, eager to find a secluded corner where they can hide for the remainder of the night, finally agreeing on a spot.

"Behind that bunch of plants over there?" Sabé asks.

Saché nods in the affirmative and they quickly take off for what they hope is their sanctuary, shaking off prying eyes and ducking around conversations with increasing clumsiness. They then swiftly slip behind the several lush green plants and sit at a small, and thankfully well hidden, bench.

"And to think we actually thought these were fun when we first started," Saché huffs as she downs the last of her drink, tossing the plastic cup into the plants.

Sabé chuckles, shaking her head. "Did we?"

"I don't remember," Saché admits, collapsing back and sighing. "Do think we'd get in trouble if we left early?"

"Probably," Sabé mutters, closing her eyes, the lights are too much, as Saché begins humming.

It's an old song, maybe from when they'd been little, and it lulls Sabé into a stupor.

After several minutes of lounging in their secluded corner, Sabé floating between sleep and wake, a flustered woman with dark red hair stumbles through the foliage and into the wall.

She doesn't notice them at first, ducks under one of the large dark leaved plants and makes sure she hasn't been followed before straightening up. Sighing, she turns and spots the sisters, sheepishly grins and shrugs.

"Ah, sorry girls," her voice is light but heavily accented, clearly from a farming planet without much polish. She jerks her head toward the dance floor. "Making a hasty retreat. Not much to be had there."

Saché nods solemnly. "We know. Think you can smuggle us out with you?"

The woman's grin broadens and she gestures for them to follow her.

She leads them down the tapestry covered wall, then stops and looks at them for a beat before ducking behind the hanging, into a hidden passage.

They travel for several meters, then reach a set of stairs. Down, right, left, seemingly endlessly going until the girl stops and the sisters collide with her back.

Sabé giggles as Saché nearly topples over trying to stop.

Pressing a finger to her lips, she then holds it up to them, mouths the word 'wait' and then pushes the wall in front of her.

It silently moves and she peeks around the corner. For a moment she's quiet, then she sighs.

"All clear."

Stepping out, Sabé sees a wall of glass, the shimmering lights of Coruscant beyond it. It would be beautiful, if not for the smog of industry and speeders hanging around it.

The party's lackluster music is still audible, droning dimly behind them, but they had apparently made their way to an outside hall and hopefully an easy escape.

"Where are we?" Sabé looks around, spotting several ornate paintings from a Core Worlds hung beside delicate tapestries.

They're not originals but very good knock offs, even drunk she can tell, but from the care and prestige they're clearly given, someone doesn't know it. She giggles at the thought of some rich Senator dishing out absurd amounts of money to a forger.

"One of the side halls. It leads to the far end of the main entrance, then all we have to do is enter the passcode and we're home free," the woman cheerfully answers, paying the well-made fraudulent paintings no mind.

Saché arches an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?"

She's suspicious, but not worried. They can both tell the girl isn't a threat. She's not as drunk as they are, but she's got the simple, open body language of someone with nothing to hide even if she weren't. She's just friendly.

The woman grins. "I use to date one of the architects."

Both girls snort. Judging by her step, she'd done more than date the architect.

They follow her silently for several moments before she gives them a curious once over. "You two are aides, yeah?"

Sabé nods.

"What planet?"

"Naboo," Saché answers, nose scrunched up, irked at the prodding. "Sorry, but, who are you?"

They both have terrific memories and she isn't a senator or a fellow aide. She is familiar though, but their drink fogged minds are blurring her name and position.

Pushing her dark red hair back over her shoulder Natalie Mattani. I'm here as a general ambassador for my mother to see how things are faring. Our Senator has been giving us rather worrisome reports."

Sabé frowns, thinking for a moment before realizing who the girl is.

"As in Dorian Mattani? The president of Stewjon?" Saché asks before Sabé can fully form a thought.

They had often heard of the formidable President Mattani, now serving her third and final term, but had never had the occasion to meet her. Padmé had of course, years before, when she had visited the Senate. The stately woman had come to the Coruscant to make a plea for increased aid on behalf of Stewjon's smaller neighbors during a devastating drought.

President Mattani and Stewjon's Senator Larribi had quietly been making it known to certain others that they are very unhappy with the direction the Republic is going, and though Padmé doubts they'll ever join the Seperatists, it's clear that they will leave the Republic if it comes to it. The fact that the president has sent her daughter is a troubling sign.

Natalie raises an eyebrow. "Aye, that she is. She's met your Senator Amidala. Said she's one of the few not in someone's pocket."

Sabé tries her best to sober up, smiling and nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "The Senator is very dedicated to the preservation of the Republic. I'm certain if you need anything while you're here she would be very happy to assist you."

Smiling brightly, Natalie reaches up and punches in the code to get them out of the building.

When they stepped out into the warm Coruscant night, Sabé feels she can breath for the first time.

"What are your names?" Natalie finally asks as they make their way around the front of the building, down a dimly lit alley.

"Saché," Saché answers, her words a little slurred, gestures first to herself and then to Sabé, "and Sabé Lindzee."

"Good to know you," Natalie replies. She stops dead in her tracks seconds later, after looking further down the alley.

"What?" Saché cranes her neck, trying to seen the cause of their abrupt stop.

"Jedi," Natalie answers, looking annoyed. Glancing around, she begins to push the other two back. "We'll go the other way 'round."

Sabé's breathe catches in her throat as she spots the pair of Jedi up ahead, instantly recognizing one as Obi-wan.

Saché's nose wrinkles up in dislike. "Ugh, they're the worst."

"It's Obi-wan," Sabé giggles, trying to push past Natalie and Saché. Obi-wan will want to see her…

Natalie snorts. "What did you say?"

Saché shoves Sabé and Natalie back down the alley, staying to the shadows. However, sensing a presence, or perhaps hearing their less than stealthy getaway, the Jedi turn to the source.

Suddenly, one of them uses the force to fling a trash can into their path.

"Sneaking off?" the unknown man asks.

"Aye. Now I see we should have run," Natalie grumbles.

Saché nods, clearly agreeing, before crossing her arms and setting the pair in a glare.

Obi-wan sighs, then frowns. "Sabé?"

"Hello," she squeaks, raising a hand in a tiny wave.

"What are you doing down here?" He asks, looking between the girls.

"We could ask the same of you," Natalie tells him, her chin rising slightly as she mimics Saché's glare.

"We asked first," the unknown man chuckles, apparently amused by the exchange.

"Are we twelve?" Saché snaps, rolling her eyes, whatever was left of her good mood evaporating. "We're skipping out. Keep it quiet and get out of our way."

She links her arm with Sabé's and pulls her, trying to push past the Jedi as she does.

Obi-Wan catching her by the elbow before she can get away. "You have transport?"

Saché yanks her arm away, pulls a set of speeder keys from her purse. "I have someone's transport, Kenobi."

Sabé groans. "Who did you steal those from?"

They're going to have to fill out a form. This is just like when they'd been kicked off the Wheel…

Shrugging, Saché tosses the keys back in her purse and looks like she's considering answering, but gets cut off.

"Obi-Wan? Kenobi?" Natalie snickers. "Poor thing. Who did that to you?"

Obi-wan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Who are you?"

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Natalie presses her hand to her chest. "Natalie Mattani. I'm from Stewjon," her smile broadens, "and judging by your name I'd say you are too."

Obi-wan looks anything but thrilled. "Fantastic."

"My cousin is married to a Kenobi. Kiel. Cute boy." Her head tilts and she regards him with interest. "Kenobi isn't a very common name, even on Stewjon. Must be family, yeah?"

"Must be," he answers, looking only mildly interested in what she has to say.

Saché, however, is now listening intently.

"Is there something wrong with that?" She grins wickedly, certain she's about to get a treat. "You said, 'who did that to you?' What did you mean?"

"Ben is my birth name," Obi-wan quickly interjects. "Obi-Wan is a…nickname, sort of."

Natalie laughs. "Nickname, yeah?"

"Can we call you Ben then?" Saché asks, looking wonderfully amused.

Obi-wan grimaces. "No."

The other Jedi's booming laughter cuts across the conversation.

"If you girls are sneaking out we'll help. Force knows I don't want to go back in there." He offers his arm to Natalie. "I'll escort you back to your place Ms. Mattani, I don't know that it would be safe to let Ben take you with those looks he's shooting your way. Plus, I doubt he'd trust me with his little friends there."

Obi-wan runs a hand over his face, looking exhausted. "Mas Mattani would be perfectly safe whoever she goes with, but no, I wouldn't trust either Miss Lindzee with you."

"It's Tan Mas actually," Natalia corrects him, looking impressed. "I'll allow him to escort me home."

She gives the sisters a little nod. "I may be contacting you soon. Good to know you, go safely."

Taking the other Jedi's arm, she leads him down the alley, out onto the well-lit street at the ends.

"Let's go then, before someone comes out and drags us back in," Saché grumbles, stomping off toward in the direction the other two had gone.

Sabé shoots Obi-wan an apologetic look.

"So," she finally begins, not really sure what to say, her mind is fuzzy, "Why were you and your friend at the party? And why didn't I see you earlier?"

"We were representing the Jedi, keeping up appearances as it were-," he explains, receiving a soft scoffing noise from Saché at this, "-and we made ourselves scarce early on."

They reach the end of the alley and find themselves facing an open thoroughfare. Saché begins flagging down an air taxi and resolutely ignoring Obi-wan.

"Perhaps we should walk up a block? It might be busier," Obi-wan suggests.

Saché looks ready to ready to argue, but then stops, sighs, and nods.

As they walk, Sabé and Obi-wan stay a few steps behind, and Sabé takes the opportunity to ask another question, "Are you from Stewjon?"

Obi-wan's face is blank for a moment, very obviously considering lying to her, then he smiles ever so slightly. "Yes."

"Is there something peculiar about your name?"

Because judging by his and Natalie's reaction, there is. If her head were clearer she'd be able to work it out.

He shakes his head.

"It's…not a standard name. As I said, Ben is my birth name. Obi-wan is a...nickname of sorts from Stewjon. Apparently it accidently was taken to be my actual name and I was far too old and far too stubborn to change it when I found out."

Sabé hiccups. "Why can't we call you 'Ben' then?"

He laughs. "You may call me Ben, if you must. Saché however…may not."

"Why not? She'd be so pleased," Sabé giggles, trying and failing not to let the drinks from earlier make her stupid.

Obi-wan frowns. "Because…it's a private name."

Sabé wrinkles her nose in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."

He glances up at Saché, a safe distance away, marching toward the end of the block.

"My mother calls me Ben. One of only a few who do."

Sabé trips and he catches her by the arm.

"I thought you didn't know your family?" She asks as he's still righting her.

He wags a finger at her. "I never said that. You misinterpreted."

Scowling, Sabé huffs. She wishes she weren't too stupid with drink to argue. He's twisting her and Saché's omissions to his own purposes and she doesn't like it.

"But...I only met them a few years before I met you," he adds, prompting her to walk again.

Her annoyance ebbing, Sabé lets her questions ramble out. "Really? What are they like? Do you have brothers and sisters?"

Chuckling, he leads her on down the sidewalk as he answers. "They're very interesting. I have three brothers and a sister, and, last I knew, a nephew and two nieces."

"Well that's very nice," Sabé tells him, almost tripping on the hem of her dress. "Do you talk with them much?"

He shakes his head, genuinely disappointed.

"My mother and Jane, my sister, send me messages fairly regularly. Once a month at least, they know I'm busy and don't really expect me to write back. Saché actually reminds me of Jane."

Leans into him, probably too close. "She's irritable and overprotective too?"

He takes a step back, still smiling. "Not irritable, a bit extreme at times, and definitely overprotective."

Sabé's mind is so preoccupied with conjuring up Obi-wan's family, creating faces to the siblings he has, that she doesn't notice Saché has stopped to glare up at the empty sky. There isn't an air taxi in sight.

"Can't you just," she waves her hands like a magician while looking at Obi-wan, "and get us one?"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," he tells her, wry smile hanging on his lips.

Saché huffs in irritation. "What good is it having some damn fool wizard with us if he can't even conjure up transport?"

"Saché," Sabé rubs her eyes in embarrassment at her sister's behavior, "let's just walk back to the apartment. It's nice out and between the two of you I doubt anyone will try anything. It won't take long."

Sighing, Saché pulls her hair up and takes off for the apartment, slowing her steps enough to fall in line with Sabé and Obi-wan. An ominous sign.

"Enjoy the party, Kenobi?"

"I can't say that I didn't," he answers, forcing a pleasant expression.

"Why not?"

His expression tightens in agitation, then he forces a smile.

"It wasn't unpleasant," he finally answers.

"For as little as the Jedi are said to like politicians, the whole mess of you are quite the little diplomats. You'd all do well in the political arena."

This causes Obi-wan to frown deeply. "I don't see how."

"You've got your fingers in the pie, Beardie. You have for millennia. If you didn't want to be part of the mess that is the Senate, you'd keep out."

He considers her for a moment, clearly taken aback by her tone. She's been curt with him before, but the night's drinking had clearly removed whatever small bit of reserve she had left.

"Saché, may I ask you what I have done to cause you such animosity towards me?"

Stopping, Saché jabs him the chest with a finger and grinds her teeth.

"I don't trust you. I don't trust any of you Jedi. You're cold…and all this nonsense about not becoming attached just makes me trust you less. I don't care that you all are supposedly some great saviors of the universe. What good are you to the universe if you don't care about anything in it? That makes you the worst guardians ever. What if you up and decide we aren't worth it? What if you wake up and decide it's the 'will of the force' we all be allowed to suffer? What could we do about that? We haven't got the powers you do, how would we protect ourselves?"

Sabé is too horrified to speak. Her mouth hangs open, voice caught in her throat. She half thinks she's having a very vivid nightmare.

Obi-wan takes a breath, his brow creasing. "Jedi protect those around them, we would never decide anyone wasn't worth it or let them suffer. We are willing to die for our causes."

Saché huffs. "You might believe that, but it isn't true."

"Oh?" Obi-wan frowns. "Would you care to enlighten me as to how that is?"

"No." Sabé manages to say, grabs Saché and tries to pull her away, but she wiggles away.

"People believe a lot of things that aren't necessarily true." She tells him, keeping Sabé at arm's length, hand in her face. "You don't know any better. You live in a fantasy that-that there is a definite good and bad, black and white, but there isn't. Every one of you is willing to die for some higher ideal that you don't understand, you can't. You have no investment in us, in this galaxy. And what's to keep you from this supposed 'dark side'? Mantras and good will?"

He starts to counter her, but she rambles on, her tongue loose with drink.

"What do you care what happens to us? What does your 'force' care? We aren't important." She jabs him in the chest with her finger again. "And that is why I don't like you, Kenobi, or the others for that matter. We don't matter. When all is said and done we aren't any more important than anyone else to you. My sister isn't any more important to you than anyone else and she deserves to be. Do you see why that bothers me?"

His brow creases deeper with his frown. "I'm not sure I do actually."

She rolls her eyes, ignoring Sabé's frantic mute attempts to silence her.

"Of course not, because you have the emotional depth of a fungi. You can't see what's right in front of you." She shakes her head, loose hair falling around her face.

Sabé knows what's coming, but she can't stop it. Her sister is drunk and angry. The stars are aligned for a meltdown.

"She loves you, you idiot. I thought it was just some childish infatuation for the longest time, but it isn't. She loves you. She's in love with you-you idiot. Can you not see that?"

The answer, if Obi-wan's stunned expression is any indication, is no.

"This is the Jedis problem," Saché carries on, oblivious to anything but her rant. "You can sense things, but you're blind to what everyone else can see, what's right in front of you."

"Saché!" Sabé finally shouts, her heart pounding.

What's just happened?

For the first time since she'd started her diatribe against Obi-wan and the Jedi, Saché seems to be back in her mind.

Mouth dropping open, she steps back, hands jumping to her chest as she looks at Sabé.

"Sabé…"

She instantly knows she's gone too far, but there's no way to reel back in her words. The damage is done, no matter what she says next.

Not waiting for an apology, Sabé takes off for the apartment and doesn't look back.

########

Sabé has never in her life been so utterly and completely furious with her sister.

She hadn't meant to be cruel, but still she had, and now Sabé will never be able to look Obi-wan in the eye again.

He's going to hate her, be embarrassed by her and her stupid crush, and it's all her stupid sister's fault.

It was bound to happen eventually, she supposes, but the drinking and the stress of the night, worry for her sister had finally boiled it over, pushing Saché over the line she was always toeing.

Running through the apartment, Sabé stumbles into her and Saché's bedroom and locks the door, sliding down the wall beside it.

Clutching her hands to her mouth she stifles a small sob.

Her chest hurts. Betrayal and embarrassment melting together, suffocating her.

How could Saché do this to her?

"Sabé?" Saché's voice drifts softly under the door. "Sabé-Sabé, I'm sorry! I was just-just stupid first and foremost, and drunk, very drunk, but-I'm sorry! I swear."

Sabé feels her throat constrict. Saché's voice is thick. She's been crying too, probably run the entire way to the apartment.

"Go away, Saché," Sabé tries to shout, but it only comes out as a croak. Her voice has no strength. "I don't want to talk."

Something rustles on the other side of the door, and Sabé knows Saché has slid down it and is now sitting just on the other side of the door. She's a heartbeat away, but unreachable


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

The next morning after she readies herself Sabé unlocks the door and lets Saché come in.

A day passes, then two, then a few more without a word passing between them.

Saché tries to apologize, several times, but the only times Sabé utters so much as a syllable in her presence is when Padmé contacts them.

She notices the iciness, asks them what's wrong, but they don't answer.

Sabé is too mortified and Saché, for the first time in her life, truly seems to feel guilt. The foreignness of the concept seems to have humbled her into keeping her mouth shut for once.

Not that it helps anything between them. The silence only grows, the resentment poisonous and crushing.

"You can't stop speaking to me forever," Saché tells her, pleading with her through the door one evening before they leave Coruscant on a mission for Padmé.

"Watch me," Sabé mumbles to herself, steady in her resolve.

She isn't sure how long she'll actually be angry, not talking, but she knows she isn't ready to forgive her sister just yet.

They don't eat together, they don't go out, they work, and do it as well as ever judging by the lack of complaints from both Typho and Padmé.

"I'm going back to Coruscant for the vote in a few days, though hopefully the debate can put a stop to the vote at all," Padmé sighs after several weeks in Naboo.

Saché's brow furrows and she glances at Sabé.

Despite the rift between them they still read each other as easily as ever, and they're in agreement on this point. Padmé is braver than she is wise as far as her political ideals are concerned.

"Padmé," Sabé begins tentatively, "about that. We've been hearing rumblings. We aren't sure if it's safe for you to come back this soon."

They'd sent her away before that doomed Senatorial gala because of all the terrible things they'd been hearing, all the threats being made. A few weeks had changed nothing.

Padmé shakes her head and the holo flickers. "There are always rumblings, Sabé. I cannot allow fear to keep me from fighting this vote."

"It's more than the normal rumblings," Sabé reminds her.

They'd found money deals and contracts, all pointing to a very real possibility that someone might try to kill her before the vote.

"Yeah, you've really pissed someone off. Dooku is in it deep with the Trade Federation and they aren't your biggest fans." Saché bites her lip and looks to Sabé who motioned for her to continue. "We spoke with Typho. He agrees with us. We think he may try something with you to gain their loyalty."

Padmé nods. "Then I'll take precautions."

"They'll be expecting that," Saché tells her, frustration bubbling just under her grim expression.

"I'm not going to hide here and let this vote happen without a fight," Padmé snaps.

"We aren't asking you to," Sabé tries to sound soothing. "We just want you to delay your trip by a few days, but don't tell anyone. We'll send in several decoy ships. Cordé and Versé will go on one ship the day before your arrival. Saché and I will go on the day after your scheduled arrival and relay your orders, and a few days later you can come with a freighter."

Saché nods enthusiastically. She probably hates the plan and has a better one in her mad mind, but she's kept it to herself and let Sabé take the lead. She been nothing if not encouraging since their falling out, but Sabé wishes she'd argue her plans a bit. Strategy works better with dissent to strengthen it.

"First of all, I can't waste that much time. The delay would hinder my scheduled meetings with others that feel as I do about this vote. And don't say you can fill in for me, I'm not wearing court makeup much anymore and the other senators would notice. I can't afford to lose their support. Second, I'm not putting four lives in danger. It's bad enough always putting two of you up on the chopping block."

"It's our job Padmé," Saché whispers.

Padmé runs her hand over her hair, pulling it out of the elaborate knot.

"I know that. Every one of you are also my friends, though, and it kills me knowing you might die." She sighs. "I'll discuss alternatives with Captain Typho. I will not delay though."

"We aren't going to be able to reach Naboo any sooner than next week. We've been turning numbers and dates over for days now and the schedule we've come up with is tight but doable. You just have to be patient," Sabé tells her, wringing her hands just out of Padmé's sight.

"No," Padmé shakes her head. "Typho and I will come up with an alternative, but a delay is not an option."

"Padmé please!" Saché widens her eyes pleadingly.

"No," Padmé's voice is firm and full of finality.

The girls visibly droop and she sighs once more.

"I promise, I won't take any unnecessary risks. The Captain and I will figure things out."

"Your definition of unnecessaryis probably from your own personal dictionary," Saché mutters.

Padmé laughs. "Maybe."

Saché rolls her eyes.

Sabé looks back at the holo.

"If you aren't going to use our plan there isn't any real use in us coming to Naboo. We can just meet you on Coruscant."

Padmé nods in agreement and with that she wishes them a good night.

"That girl is going to get herself very dead if she doesn't start listening," Saché grumbles, "and getting very dead for her is our job. She's going to really put a damper on our income if she dies."

Sabé almost laughs, it's funny, but she bites it back.

Instead she goes to bed without telling her sister goodnight.

#######

The trip to Coruscant from the forest moon they had been working on is less than a day's travel.

They had traveled there disguised as an Outer Rim smuggling pair looking for a better income in the hopes of drumming up information from other smugglers and traders about the Separatists. It seems, however, that they're getting tighter lipped and the flow of info the girls found is little more than a trickle.

Travel back to Coruscant is just as silent as the journey away had been. Saché constantly tries to start a conversation, asking if Sabé if she'd like something to eat, pointing out constellations, remarking on the dress of their fellow travelers, but Sabé doesn't respond, she isn't ready to talk.

She goes to her room without a word once they're back on Coruscant.

When she emerges from the steaming fresher she's greeted by an empty room and a note on her datapad from Saché saying she's gone to get takeout.

Tossing the datapad aside and flops on the bed.

Suddenly, a loud noise comes from the main room that sounds suspiciously like her name, and draws her from her stupor.

She rolls her eyes.

Saché has forgotten her keycard again. She's probably doing it on purpose, to try to get Sabé to talk to her, and if it weren't for a stubborn sense of loyalty, she'd leave her sister in the hall.

Taking her time, she reaches the door there and finds no one there.

Perplexed, she turns and sees the holoprojector flickering.

"Padmé!" She rushes to the image. "We only just got back. Trying to make ourselves presentable."

"I can see that." Padmé laughs, gesturing to the towel around Sabé's head.

Sabé forces herself to smile. "It's the latest on Malastar."

"Hopefully it stays there," Padmé tells her, then she looks around. "Where is that sister of yours anyway?"

Sabé waves dismissively. "She's gone out to get food. Nobody's bothered to stock this place since you left for Naboo."

Relaxing a bit at the news her handmaiden isn't out disgracing the planet, Padmé nods. "Well then, you can tell her when she gets back: I'm coming in tomorrow."

Sabé takes a breath, hoping she's at least using precautions. "Well that's something. Please tell me you're at least using a decoy?"

Nodding solemnly, Padmé sighs. "Yes. Cordé and Versé will be on the main ship. Captain Typho has assured me he will personally inspect it."

Keeping her hands knotted together, Sabé forces another smile. "We'll be at the landing pad then. Get some rest Padmé."

Padmé doesn't say goodnight or switch the holoprojector off though.

"Sabé, is everything alright?"

She's squinting, probably trying vainly to clear the holo to decide if she can detect what's got her friend so quiet.

Laughing, false even to her ears, Sabé shakes her head. Padmé has enough on her plate without the fight between Sabé and Saché weighing on her mind.

"Yes. Why?"

"You seem sad," Padmé tells her. "You've seemed sad for a few weeks now. Saché too."

"I'm exhausted," Sabé tells her. It's partly true. "Something you should know about."

Padmé doesn't look convinced.

"Sabé, I think you, and Saché, should take a break. You've spent nearly two years either promoting Naboo or doing stars only knows what to gather information about the Separatists for me."

Pressing her palms to her eyes, Sabé shakes her head.

"Padmé, really? You think we would be able to sit back and take a break? We want to help. Unless you aren't happy with our work?"

Padmé makes a face, clearly annoyed at Sabé's emotional blackmail.

"Sabé you know that isn't it. Everyone needs a break. I took one."

Huffing, Sabé rolls her eyes.

"Only after we forced you to, and I'm willing to bet Saché's Correllian General Seasons 1-5 HoloCollection that you spent nearly all of it working."

Scoffing, Padmé attempts to look innocent. "I'm on a break."

"Right."

Padmé's expression softens and she smiles softly.

"If there were something wrong, you would tell me though, right? I know it doesn't seem like it, but I always have time for my friends. I'll make it."

Shaking her head a little more furiously than she intends, Sabé tries to brighten up her smile. "Of course."

"Padmé!" Saché's boisterous voice rings out and she rushes to the holoprojector, still laden with bags holding dinner.

Sabé takes them from her and then excuses herself from the room to begin going through whatever greasy, semi-edible food Saché has scrounged up.

Several minutes later Saché wanders in as Sabé is gathering up what she wants to take to her room to eat.

"Padmé asked me what's bothering you," she says after a moment.

Sabé doesn't respond, simply brushes past her and out the room.

Settling on her bed, she opens the plastic container and pulls out the greasy sandwich and starts eating when Saché comes to the door and knocks.

"Sabé?"

When it becomes clear Sabé still isn't answering, Saché's sigh echoes through the door.

"I'll see you in the morning Sissy."

#######

Not a word passes between the sisters as they make the trip to the landing pad.

The guards, aware of the many weeks' worth of tension, keep a safe distance from both girls.

Standing in the tower, with several people and things between them, Sabé and Saché can see the ship and its escorts slowly descending to them. When it touched down and the ramp lowers Sabé feels a slight bit of relief, Padmé is here and she'll have someone other than Saché to talk to…

The thought has no more formed in her mind when it happens.

The explosion shatters the window in the tower and knocks everyone down.

Lifting her head, Sabé looks frantically around, trying to reorient herself as her ears fill with an odd buzzing.

Her heart stops and her first thought is she needs to find her sister. She needs to find Saché.

Scrambling, she stumbles to where she had last seen Saché, shouting her name over and over again before someone grabs her elbow. The unknown guard yells but she can't hear him.

"I have to find my sister!" She tells him, even though she knows he can't hear her.

She can't even hear her own voice, only the vibration in her chest.

Tears start falling as she squints through the smoke and debris, screaming for Saché.

Someone pushes her from behind.

Turning she find Saché, bleeding from the forehead and hair askew, but otherwise apparently alright. She grabs Sabé by the shoulders and quickly looks her over before glancing around, still confused.

What in the nine hells just happened? She silently asks.

Sabé shakes her head. She's got about as much a clue as Saché does.

They both look down to the tarmac, then at each other, the realization that Padmé is still down among the debris and fire dawning on them.

Without thought, they race from the tower, tripping and tumbling down the steps and onto the smoke filled tarmac.

"Padmé!" Sabé shouts, still unable to hear her own voice.

As soon as they reach the site of the explosion, pushing past emergency droids and fire crews, Captain Typho rushes past them, pulling a visibly shaken Padmé with him.

Catching her look of devastation, Sabé knows they'll find no survivors but runs with Saché to the fallen bodies despite it.

Cordé is limp, soot covered, blood leaking from her mouth, and Saché shakes her head and covered her mouth at the sight of Versé crumpled only a few steps away.

They stay with their fallen friends until a pair of emergency workers come.

"We'll help," Sabé sees Saché mouth to them as she drops to her knees and gently assists them in picking up first Cordé and then Versé and putting them on the stretchers.

Sabé drapes her cloak over Cordé and Saché does the same with hers and Versé before they take them away, leaving the sisters in the smoldering remains of the destroyed transport.

Sabé slowly links her arm with her sister's and together they walk in the direction Typho had taken Padmé.

It could have been us, it could always be us, she thinks, insides shuddering at the thought.

They could be blinked out in a heartbeat.

Their fight seems silly and pointless now.

She squeezes Saché's arm and felt a few tears for her fallen friends slip down her filthy face.

"Sabé! Saché!" Padmé's teary, dim voice dully echoes out of the room with her as she hugs them. She buries her face in Sabé's shoulder and sobs. "It shouldn't have happened."

"Shhhh, it'll be okay," Sabé coos, pats her friend's shoulder, not certain she can even hear her.

After several minutes of trying to calm Padmé, they slowly make their way to the secured transport and then off to the apartment.

Padmé quietly vanishes to her room to change. She had been trying to tell them something, but the ringing in their ears hadn't entirely dissipated.

Once she's gone, an awkward hum fills the room.

Saché clears her throat, and miraculously Sabé can hear her.

"Sabé, I-I'm sorry. I overstepped. I know I overstepped. I can't protect you from everything no matter how much I may want to."

Sabé sinks into the nearest chair, running a weary hand through her hair and nodding. "I know, Sach. I know you have good intentions but…"

She'd hurt her, more than she probably understands. It was embarrassing and demeaning and a thousand other things she can't quite name. Overstepping was and understatement in her mind.

"The road to hell, right?" Saché shrugs, shaking her head. She smiles sadly. "I just don't want you to end up like mom."

A cold understanding finally hits Sabé. Saché hadn't just been worried for her, she'd been terrified. Sabé can't remember their parents really, all the awful things that had happened before their mother died, but Saché does.

"You really think I'm that weak?" Sabé finally asks, her voice breaking.

"No," Saché quickly answers, rushing to Sabé's side and dropping down. "But…love, it makes you stupid."

Sabé snorts, shakes her head. "For someone who dislikes the Jedi so much you seem to have as much scorn for that particular emotion as they do."

Saché rolls her eyes. "I don't pretend to be above it, I'm just…cautious." She scoots into the char beside Sabé, pulls her into a hug and presses a kiss to her hair. "Forgive me?"

"Always." Sabé shoots her stern look. "I'm still going to be mad for awhile."

"I know."

She smiles. "I love you to pieces Sach, but you really are an obnoxious busy-body."

"I know, and I take that as a compliment." She grins, her first genuine one in weeks.

"Somehow I knew you would." Sabé shakes her head and narrows her eyes. "If you ever do something like that again I'll skin you."

"Naturally." Saché takes her hand and squeezes it. "Sabs, I want you to be happy, but this thing with Kenobi, it's not healthy. It will only ever lead to misery."

Sabé nods.

Saché hadn't ended a great love affair. She'd just put out the embers of a friendship Sabé had foolishly wished were more.

A bit more bluntly than Sabé would've liked, but the results were the same.

"I suppose it is for the best," Sabé leans into her sister. "It was always hopeless."

She pressed her palms to her eyes until she sees stars.

"Let's hope I never run into him ever again. I'll die of embarrassment."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

Padmé goes from tearful to furious in the matter of time it takes her to pick out a new outfit.

Sabé, Saché, and Dormé scurry around as she rages on, helping her prepare for her meeting with the Chancellor.

"This is Dooku's doing," she tells them through gritted teeth. "He murdered Cordé and Versé. The Senate has no choice but to intervene. They can't keep turning a blind eye to him when he's obviously pulling the strings and goading us into making a rash decision about the Military Act; he knows what the consequences will be."

"Yes, m'lady," Dormé agrees, anxiously finishing Padmé's hair.

Padmé and Dormé leave shortly after, resolute in what she wants to get out of the meeting.

"I won't let them die for nothing."

None of her aides want to be the ones to point out that, historically speaking, this will do little to spur the Senate on. Two dead women in Coruscant is hardly going to spark ire. There's no reasoning with her though.

While she's off, Sabé and Saché are given the duty of arranging for Cordé's and Versé's bodies to be returned to Naboo.

"Chancellor Palpatine has offered the use of one of his personal ships to take them home," one of the guards tells them as they go to the mortuary to view their bodies, make sure they're in a state to be seen by their families.

"That's very kind of him," Saché murmurs, eyes fixed on Cordé's singed hair.

Sabé nods her agreement, unable to look at their still figures a moment longer.

The dead don't bother her, but the quietness, the cold and the stillness haunts her. She's used to movement and reading the motions, the dead are confusing. Terrible in the secrets they hold.

They walk back to the apartment after that, needing the air and the noise to force the image of their dead friends from their minds.

They're barely back in their room when they hear Padmé come storming in, a terrified Dormé trailing after her.

"His suggestion, no, his order was for me to have more security! He asked for Jedi to tighten our security detail!"

Saché makes a face, probably considering saying something, but holds her tongue. Still, her body language says plenty.

Now they want to help, after there's a body count. How generous of them.

If the moment weren't so dire Sabé would laugh.

"He suggested Kenobi and Skywalker."

Sabé's insides seem to drop out and her heart stops dead in her chest.

Of course, why not? It's not like there are hundreds, maybe thousands of other Jedi to choose from.

"He thought a pair of familiar faces would make it less obtrusive."

How thoughtful, Sabé thinks irritably.

Dormé smiles, obviously charmed by his consideration for their comfort. "It was very nice of him to think of that."

"Yes," Saché rolls her eyes. "So kind."

"Just because he suggested it doesn't mean he'll get them, does it?" Sabé wonders aloud, hoping Padmé will tell her the Chancellor's goodwill has been met with stone faced resistance.

"Masters Yoda and Windu were there," Padmé answers, tossing a pair of shoes into her closet. "They seemed to think it was real possibility."

"Who?" Saché asks before waving the question away as unimportant. "Did they hear your suspicions about Dooku?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Padmé's expression darkens. "They were unconvinced. Said their intelligence believed it to be disgruntled spice miners."

Saché arches an eyebrow. "Shocking."

"When will you be meeting with them," Sabé quickly asks, no longer following the conversation. She wants to be as far away as possible when the Jedi arrive.

"This afternoon. They'll comm before they arrive."

"Fantastic," Saché mutters.

#######

They spend the rest of the day escorting Padmé to meetings, diverting attention by having Padmé and Dormé go one way and Sabé, as the Senator, along with Saché go another way. There's no telling who might be watching and plotting against her.

They're hardly as convincing as they'd been a decade prior, but the ruse is still useful. As long as no one looks too closely, they're close enough in height and size that with the proper dressing to pass for one another.

They're forced to use the offices of the Alderaanian senator between meetings.

Padmé's is deemed unsafe until further notice.

While they're in meetings, her office is stripped and searched, put back together to ensure no hidden listening devices or explosives are missed.

A pair of Jedi are sent to conduct personnel 'debriefings' but Padmé refuses to let them near her personal staff.

"I trust these people with my life," she snaps. "And if you think I'm going to let you bully them or interrogate them, you're very, very wrong."

"We need to investigate all possibilities, madam Senat-"

"Then investigate, but leave my staff out of it."

Sabé almost points out that refusing to allow for the possibility that someone might have betrayed her is as foolish as the Jedi refusing to believe that one of their own has fallen so far, but keeps quiet.

She hadn't betrayed Padmé, nor had Saché, Dormé, or Typho, the only ones singled out for 'debriefing' from Padmé's personal staff. She's confident enough in her friends to doubt that interrogating them would turn up much.

Despite their insistence, Padmé puts an end to their attempts with a call to the Chancellor.

"Oh Padmé," Saché chuckles as she watches the two Jedi retreating down the hall. "You're my hero."

#######

Saché's amusement is short lived.

When they return to the apartment they're met with a distressing sight.

"Those are my underpants!" Saché snaps at young security officer carrying out a drawer.

She marches up to him and snatched the drawer away, growling at him for good measure.

"What's going on here?" Padmé shouts, grabbing a set of shimmer silk dresses from one of the men.

"It's part of the investigation. Just like your office, m'lady," one of the officers explains, trying and failing to look impressive in his too snug uniform.

"I was not told my entire living quarters were to be dismantled and rifled through like a rummage sale!"

"M'lady we must secure everywhere they might get to you at. Surely you understand this?" He adds, clearly not understanding who he is trying to win an argument against.

Padmé grinds her teeth, forcing a pleasant expression onto her face. "And just where am I and my attendants to stay? And what about all our things?"

He smiles, insincere to his core.

"Another apartment has been set up for you and the ladies and appropriate measures have been taken to ensure that all of your personal items will be quickly there."

Padmé looks ready to argue, but bites her tongue. More than half their things have already been moved, they might as well go to the new apartment.

With one last glare she turns on her heels and heads out the doors, tossing a 'Be sure that they are' over her shoulder as she goes.

Before entering the turbolift Saché snatches a bag of shoes from one of the officers, making sure to swat him in the face with her hair as she turns to march out after Padmé.

"Why did they wait until now to search the apartment? Shouldn't they have done that before we even got there? And we were just there this morning!" Dormé looks increasingly horrified at the implications of all the possible answers to each question she comes up with.

Saché replies with a derisive snort. "Because they're idiots. We should never have let the Coruscanti police have any hand in our security no matter what the Senate says."

Considering how the investigation has gone so far, piecemealed together between Naboo forces, Jedi, and the Coruscant police, Sabé can't say she doesn't agree. There are too many people involved, too many chances to cover something up.

Brushing the worry aside for the time, Sabé takes the shoes from Saché.

They're directed to the far side of the building, where they have a far better view of the city at least.

All their belongings are scattered around, labeled clumsily and being carted by droids to what they must feel are appropriate rooms.

Setting swiftly to work, they chase the droids down, taking their boxes out of Padmé's room and into what will now be their own, removing Dormé's, and passing along Cordé and Versé's to Typho.

It isn't until Saché has finished counting her holodrama collection, making sure they're all intact and unscathed, that Padmé hurries in, hair only half done.

"They're on their way."

No clarification is needed as to who they are.

Pushing Padmé back into her room, Sabé and Saché help Dormé put the final touches on the Senator's outfit before grabbing cloaks and rushing for the door, not even changing out of the uncomfortable shoes they had worn all day.

"See you later, Pads! Have fun! Miss us!" Saché calls out as she hurries after Sabé out the door, not sparing a moment for anyone to question them why they're leaving.

They'll explain later. Or, more accurately, they lie about why they're running off later.

"Ah, freedom! Where to, sissy?" Saché asks breathlessly, once they're on the turbolift.

Sabé shrugs, unconcerned with their destination as long as it's far from the Jedi.

"How about dinner?"

"That's fine," Sabé answers, not really listening as she looks out the window at the setting sun, squinting at the burning red orb as she exits the turbo.

Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she stumbles over her feet.

Saché manages to grab her by the forearm, stop her from hitting the floor, while another pair of hands catches her under the shoulders. Somehow she still manages to slam, face first, into her rescuer's stomach.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It's these heels! Awful things," she apologizes, frantically trying to right herself. She freezes when she realizes just who she's fallen into.

"Sabé!" Obi-wan's eyes widen in surprise before he looks over her shoulder and sighing. "Saché."

"Kenobi," Saché grumbles, her teeth grinding.

Sabé straightens up, casts her eyes downward, not wanting to look him in the face. Her cheeks burn warmer than a sun. "Ob-Master Kenobi."

They stand there for several moments, the awkwardness growing thick, before Saché makes a frustrated noise.

"I was under the impression Anakin was part of this deal, you abandon him?" She asks, her tone surprisingly civil.

He nods. "He's paying the fare."

"Good," Saché tells him, forcing a smile. "Very lovely to see you. Love your hair, excellent choice. We must be on our way though. Good luck with the Senator. You'll need it."

She starts to pull Sabé past him, but he side steps them, blocks their path.

"You're in a hurry?"

"How very astute of you, whatever gave it away?" Saché asks, her smile growing terse.

His eyebrows rise. "How is it that you are one of best intelligence agents Naboo has, yet apparently cannot keep your temper around Jedi?"

"Because," Saché begins "I know what I'm getting with criminals. Can't be annoyed with that. Besides, what are you going to do to me? Not help me when I need it?" She snorts. "Already got that covered don't you?"

His eyebrows pull together and his mouth turns in a deep frown. He's more frustrated than he'd like them to believe, but he's hiding it well.

"I'm here to help. Or did you forget that?"

She huff, unimpressed. "We'll see."

"We really must be going," Sabé suddenly says, grabbing Saché by the arm and tugging her.

She needs to get away from him. Her face is on fire and her insides are rolling. If she isn't fast she'll loose her breakfast all over his shoes.

Mercifully, they start to get away, but Obi-wan isn't done with them it seems. He cuts off their escape route again.

"Are the two of you no longer part of the security detail?"

He directs the question at Sabé, but she ignores it, and Saché happily answers.

"There are more than enough security officers there. Between Typho's people, the local agents, and now you they hardly need us. Especially not for a simple briefing."

He looks doubtful, and Sabé gets the impression he's about to pick apart the lie.

Before she can think it through, fear and the need to distract him overwhelm her, she blurts out, "We have dates."

Obi-wan's expression flashes surprise before quickly schooling back into polite interest. "Oh?"

"Yes," Saché agrees, shoving him out of the way, "and we're about to be late. Now if you don't mind."

She's in such a hurry she nearly collides with Anakin.

"Hello sweetness," she greets him with a bright smile. "Good luck boys!"

Without a backward glance, the girls dash out the doors and into the dimming Coruscanti sun.

"A date?" Saché laughs. "Really? That's a hoot, Sabs! I haven't been on a date since…I don't even know when the last time I went on a real date was."

Sabé grimaces. She's doesn't remember the last time she had a date either. Her contact with most men has been limited to the ones she's met while working.

"Me either," she admits. "All the ones we meet are just so-so…"

"Creepy?" Saché offers. "Greasy? Old? Perverted? Incompatible?"

She pauses for a minute, nose wrinkled up.

"That really explains your attraction to Kenobi, doesn't it? He's probably really is the only decent man we've run into in the last twenty years."

"Yeah, well," Sabé grunts, running a hand through her hair. "Attraction or not, I can't even look at him."

Saché stops walking, winces. "That's my fault. I made things uncomfortable for you, both of you."

"It's alright Saché...maybe that's what I needed: A good dose of embarrassment to snap me into reality. I'll get over the awkwardness…eventually."

Nodding, Saché links her arm with Sabé's and tugs her along.

"Come on, date, we have a buffet to get to."

#######

After visiting a very seedy restaurant in the Orange District, the sisters treat themselves to a trip to a shoe shop. They quickly discard the painful heels for less glamorous flats that they wear as they visit an ice cream parlor.

"Suppose they're gone?" Saché asks, licking melting blumfruit flavored sherbet from her hand.

"Hopefully," Sabé mutters, hailing the taxi.

They're wrong, of course.

"Oh!" Sabé helps as she tumbles through the front entry and finds Obi-Wan inspecting the trinkets tossed in a box by a bookshelf.

"Why are you still here?" Saché asks, crossing her arms, fighting off the urge to say something rude.

"We're here to help protect the Senator," he answers, speaking slowly, as if she's somewhat slow to understand.

Not missing the slight, Saché cuts Sabé a look.

Bed?

Silently agreeing, Sabé continues to keep her eyes anywhere but on the Jedi.

"'Night," she mumbles as Saché inclines her head, then they turn to leave.

Before they make their escape though, Obi-wan stops them with a question.

"How were your dates?"

Freezing midstep, Sabé glances at Saché.

Her sister smiles, just enough for Sabé to see

She's got a way to shake him, but she's not sure Sabé will like it.

Exhausted, Sabé simply shrugs. She can't possibly embarrass her more than she had that night.

"They bored us," she begins, innocently enough. Then she grins. "A girl can only put up with that stuffy self-important attitude for so long before she contemplates strangling a man. And I'm not talking about the fun kind. Good night, Beardie."

Sabé feels her cheeks burn. She doesn't look at him, just rushes out after Saché.

She was clearly wrong. Her sister can always embarrass her more.

#######

"Anakin's quite grown up isn't he?" Padmé mentions, trying to sound casual as they prepare for bed. "I hardly recognized him."

It's a miserable attempt. Even if her body language weren't keyed up, shouting her attraction, Sabé is pretty sure she'd know.

"Hmm?" Saché doesn't even look up from her reading. "Oh yeah, handsome thing isn't he?"

Padmé's eyebrows rise in shock.

"Are you feeling well? I don't think I've ever heard you so dismissive of an attractive male."

Inappropriate comments and salacious innuendo are Saché's life force. Her not jumping on the topic is a troubling sign.

Saché swipes her finger on her data pad. "I'm not being dismissive. I can't get worked up over him though. I mean, I still see a little kid."

Sabé laughs. "He's not much younger than us."

Looking up, Saché shrugs. "I knew him as a child and I think I'll always see him as a little boy."

Padmé shakes her head. "So do you see Sabé and I as children?"

"Of course," Saché admits, eyes dropping back to her datapad.

"This explains so much," Sabé mutters.

Her sister is delusional, that's what it explains.

Saché looks up again, fixing Padmé in an amused look. "Dormé said you told Anakin the same thing Padmé. Poor thing."

Padmé huffs. "Poor thing? Why 'poor thing'?"

Saché grins, expression maddeningly superior. "Because he's smitten with you, has been for ages. You're all he asked about when we ran into him last. Don't pretend you didn't know. And now it's painfully clear you like him too."

"What, might I ask, makes you so sure I like him?" Padmé crosses her arms, trying to appear indifferent to Anakin and Saché's assessment of her feelings, but failing spectacularly.

Saché simply holds up a finger, then points it at herself. "Lorrdian."

Not waiting for a response, she goes back to her reading.

Making a frustrated noise, Padmé gets up and hurries out, muttering something that sounds like 'completely wrong' under her breath.

Sabé grins, looks at Saché.

She isn't wrong.

#######

It's late when Sabé wakes shivering.

The air around her shudders and she sits up, uncertain what's wrong.

Just when she's decided it was nothing more than a lingering nightmare, a Saché shoots bolt upright, eyes wide.

"What the…"

Someone screams down the hall.

Jumping from their beds, the girls race down the hall to the source of the commotion: Padmé's room.

Anakin runs past them without notice as they slid to a stop in front of Padmé's room.

Pushing past the half dozen security guards watching with dumbfounded expressions hanging on their faces, Sabé registers the broken window and then Dormé setting on the bed with Padmé, both seemingly fine but frightened.

Typho is grim as he looks at the sisters. "It was another assassination attempt."

"Really? I'd never have guessed," Saché mutters, rolling her eyes as she goes to the window to examine it closer.

Sabé settles on the bed next to Padmé. "What happened?"

"A droid. It put those," she waves her hand in disgust at a singed looking thing on the ground, dead and limp now, "in my room. Anakin killed it."

Saché jerks her thumb at the broken window, jagged edge jutting up threateningly. "Not very subtle was is?"

Padmé grimaces. "Obi-wan did that."

When she notices the confused looks on her friends' faces she clarifies. "He jumped out the window to catch the droid."

Sabé bounds off the bed, reaching the window seconds after Saché. They both lean out, squinting down and expecting to see bits of Obi-wan hanging from the antennas and awnings scattered along the side of the building.

There isn't so much as a thread dangling from the glass though.

Saché's nose wrinkles, trying not to look disappointed. "I don't see him."

"It flew off with him," Dormé explains, pointing out into the messy Coruscant skyline.

Sabé turns and stares out the window, half expecting to see a Jedi bouncing off the hood of a speeder. Flew off with him?

"Anakin went to follow it," Padmé continues on, going to her wardrobe and grabbing a cloak.

"Maybe they'll find something out about whoever is making these attempts," Typho mutters to himself, leaning down and examining the creature, taking out a datapad and scanning it.

"If it doesn't kill him first," Sabé grumbles, still watching out the window.

It's going to be a long night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada

After hours of waiting up, pouring over documents, the girls nod off.

Padmé is first, slumped sideways in the chair, datapad still on in her lap. Dormé curls up around one of her pillows, a little drool dribbling out the side of her mouth. Finally, Saché goes out, propped up on one arm, her datapad opened to The Nova, the scandal sheet's vivid headline shouting about

Sleep doesn't overwhelm Sabé though. Worry keeps her eyes wide and her senses alert.

She watches the others for several hours before her stomach rumbles and she decides to sneak to the kitchen to have the droid make her something.

To her frustration, the droid hasn't been activated, and she doesn't want to risk waking the others by trying to turn it on, so she gathers a few blumfruit slices up and heads back to the room.

She stops at one of the windows to peer out at their new view of the city.

The citizens, nothing more than miniscule dots from her vantage point, buzz in and out, leaving nothing but bright trails in their wake.

It must be nice, Sabé thinks, to be one of them. To have such uncomplicated lives.

The loud hiss of the door startles her out of her reverie.

Turning, she's met by two Jedi hurrying in, looking windswept but otherwise unharmed.

"Obi-wan! You're alright!" Sabé gasps before thinking better of it.

Both men freeze, apparently startled, not having realized she was there.

Obi-wan frowns. "Sabé?"

"Who?" Anakin squints, frowning into the dark. "I can't sense you. That's...odd."

"She and Saché are quite adept at blocking their signatures," Obi-wan tells him.

Sabé isn't quite sure what he's talking about, but doesn't get the chance to question it before her mouth asks about the more pressing issue.

"Did you find anything out?"

"A bounty hunter was behind it. Two actually, one killed the other before we could get anything out of her," Anakin grumbles.

"We've briefed the Captain, and we're going to the Council in the morning with these new details," Obi-Wan adds, looking perturbed with Anakin.

Anakin is oblivious to Obi-wan's annoyance though as he focuses on Sabé. "Is Padmé okay?"

Sabé smiles.

"She's fine. She's with Dormé and my sister in an inner room. Away from windows."

"Is there a guard?"

Sabé shakes her head. "It's an inner room. We didn't feel it was necessary…"

He's stopped listening though, has taken off down the hall Sabé had pointed toward, muttering to himself.

Hearing a heavy sigh, Sabé turns to see Obi-wan running his hand over his face, looking wearily at the retreating figure of his student.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with him," he tells her before smiling.

Sabé is grateful for the poor lighting. Her face is burning and she can't make herself look him in the eye.

When the silence gets to be too much, she clasps her hands and bites her lip. She needs to say something.

"Thank you so much for all you're doing for Padmé. I don't want to think what might have happened if the two of you hadn't been here."

He shakes his head.

"There's no need for thanks. The Senator is very principled, something lacking in the rest of the Senate, and she's held in high regard at the Temple."

Another stretch of silence settles over them, and Sabé has just muttered a goodnight when Obi-wan stops her.

"Sabé," he begins, looking unsure, "may I speak with you?"

"Aren't you already?" She says, cringing at how much she sounds like Saché.

A small crease forms between his eyes. "Yes, I suppose. Please sit."

Wondering if it would be rude to ignore him and rush off to bed, Sabé reluctantly drops into the chair across from him.

She feels a bit like she's about to be on the receiving end of a lecture, just like when she'd been little and her sister had dragged her into some kind of nonsense. Which she somewhat has.

Obi-wan sighs, settles into the chair across from her and forces a smile.

"I'm sorry, Sabé," he begins, expression weary. "I never meant to confuse you or lead you to some kind of wrong assumption about my feelings for you. I do care about you. And despite what your sister may think, your safety and happiness is very important to me. I'd never intentionally work to harm you. I truly do treasure your friendship, and I hope we can still be friends."

A stone settles in the center of Sabé's stomach.

He's only telling her what she's known for years. He doesn't have the same feelings for her that she does for him.

Tears start to swell in her eyes and her chest tightens.

It's stupid, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes it hurt a little bit more.

A foolish part of her had hoped...

Swallowing back tears, Sabé nods.

This is her problem, not his. She's the one that's nursed a crush for far too long, made her own heart break. He shouldn't be punished for that.

It isn't fair to hoist her expectations onto him and then be angry when he refuses to shoulder it. He cares about her the best way he knows how, and she'll accept that.

She forces a smile, hoping the shadows hid the lie.

"I'd like that very much."

He doesn't believe her.

His expression softens. "I'm sorry Sabé, but you don't have to lie you know?"

"I'm not," she continues. "Your friendship means a great deal to me."

And that's no lie.

She often feels like she has so few friends, so few people in her life that truly love her. It's a relief to at least count him among them as someone who cares.

She'll take his friendship. It's all he has to give and she's grateful.

Clearing her throat, she smoothes down her dress and searches her mind for something less embarrassing to talk about.

Anything, really. She isn't sure if she can handle much more discussion of her ill-placed affection.

"Do you routinely jump from buildings, or was that particular stunt special for us?"

It's a clumsy question, sounds stupid to her ears, but Obi-wan appears delighted by it.

He chuckles. "I try not to make a habit of it. I really didn't think that through, actually."

"I wouldn't think you had." She laughs, feeling slightly more at ease. Now that the subject has moved on. "Very gallant though. Painfully stupid, but gallant."

"I imagine it was quite spectacular," he concedes, stoking his beard, obviously pleased with himself.

"You'll have to ask someone else. I'm afraid I missed the show."

His face falls at her confession. "You didn't see?"

Sabé shakes her head and he deflated a little more.

"Well," he bristles, "it was impressive."

"I'm sure it was," she laughs at his indignation. "And how did you get down?"

"I fell…and Anakin caught me," he explains. His smile is tempered, and despite his earlier annoyance, it's clear he's proud of Anakin. "He's quite a good pilot. Though I wouldn't tell him that, he's already overconfident enough as it is."

From what little Sabé has seen of Anakin, heard of him, she doesn't doubt that.

Yawning, Sabé gives him a sheepish grin.

The hour has finally caught up with her.

"I really do need to get to bed," she tells him, standing up and glancing over her shoulder. "If Saché wakes up and finds me gone, she'll have a fit."

Obi-wan chuckles. "Yes, I'd hate to see her upset."

"I know. She's normally so even tempered." Biting her lip, Sabé lets her eyes drop again. "You will keep us informed of what the Council has to say, won't you?"

Because they need to know this is being taken seriously.

"Of course."

"And," she takes a breath, "please keep an open mind about our theory, about Count Dooku. I know none of you think it likely, but…Saché and I have been investigating him and the Separatists for a long time and…" She looks at him imploringly. "Just don't discount our information simply because of its source."

He smiles shakes his head.

"Sabé, I believe you and Saché's information is as accurate as any, I know your top priority is the Senator's safety and that makes you extremely thorough."

"Thank you," she murmurs before forcing a smile. "Goodnight, Master Kenobi, sleep well."

"Ben."

Sabé frowns.

His eyes focus on her, too intense to meet.

"I thought we'd settled on you calling me 'Ben'," he explains, reminding her of their last conversation before her sister's drunken rant.

He's actually embarrassed, Sabé can tell, and that fact eases her a bit.

Under all the mystery and mystical powers, strict codes and detachment, he's still human. Even if just a little. Even if he doesn't feel the same way she does.

Nodding, Sabé's lips twitch up.

"Sleep well, Ben."

He bows, just slightly. "Sleep well, Sabé."

#######

"Padmé's not going to like that," Sabé mutters after Anakin returns the next day.

They'd attended meets through hologram, security too tight for Padmé to be allowed back at the Senate despite her protests.

"I was allowed there yesterday," she complained. "What's changed?"

"Um, there was another assassination attempt," Saché reminded her, receiving a glare for her trouble.

They'd remained quietly at her side for the next few hours, until their Jedi guards switch out and Anakin and Obi-wan return, bearing less than fantastic news.

"It's been nice knowing you kid," Saché adds, expression grim.

Anakin isn't amused by their assessment of his chances.

"It's for her own safety. I'll be accompanying her back to Naboo. The fewer of us traveling the less attention we'll get, and one of you girls will stay behind to act as decoy for a while."

"Not 'it'," Saché mutters, just loud enough for Sabé to hear.

Dormé grimaces, glancing around before whispering, "Who's going to tell her?"

"I am," Anakin answers, looking more confident than he should. "Is she in the kitchen?"

Sabé nods and makes a pained expression as Anakin brushes past her to go and give the Senator the ugly news.

Dormé smiles faintly. "I take it I'm going to be acting as decoy?"

"Do Hutts gamble?" Saché asks, grinning. "Sabé and I'll be going off planet with the gaming commission, trying to scrounge up more information. It was planned before the attack and I doubt the Senator is going to want us to abandon it over something as trivial as an attempted assassination."

Dormé nods. "I imagine you're right."

Something bangs in the kitchen, then Padmé's voice rises up quickly and loudly, berating the poor fool who'd given her the plans for her safety.

Clearly, she's thrilled with the arrangements.

Anakin's voice soon joins in the jumble, rendering it incomprehensible.

The girls exchange wary glances.

"Should one of us go in there and try to mediate?" Dormé asks when they hear glass breaking.

"I'm not going in there," Sabé quickly tells her, glancing to Saché. "Do you remember what happened the last time we tried to intervene when someone gave her bad news?"

Saché hugs herself, eyes wide and haunted. "I'll never eat fish again, that's for damn sure."

Dormé's eyebrows rise. "Wha-"

Before she can ask about what had simply been dubbed the 'incident' by those who'd witnessed it, Padmé comes marching out of the kitchen. Her narrowed eyes and gritting teeth directed their way for a moment before storming off, letting them know she's convinced they're in on the plot to send her back to Naboo.

Anakin emerges shortly after, looking just as irritated.

"How'd it go?" Saché asks, somehow managing to look innocently curious.

Anakin responds with a grunt

When he starts in the direction Padmé had vanished in, Sabé stops him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Let her be for a bit, Anakin. She needs to calm down before you'll have any hope of making her see reason."

"If you can," Saché adds in an undertone.

He runs a hand over his head, grinding his teeth before making a frustrated noise and glaring at the girls.

"It's the most reasonable way to keep her safe. Surely she can see that?"

Sabé and Saché exchange a knowing look.

Years of experience have taught them Padmé is more concerned with maintaining her high ideals and helping the people of the Republic than she is with her own safety.

"Padmé is too important to the opposition to the Military Creation Act for her to let herself stay here and make an easy target. Eventually she'll see that," Dormé finally says, genuine in her hope.

"Right," Saché mutters, rolling her eyes.

"We'll all talk to her as well, Anakin. Once she's less likely to kill us" Sabé adds, certain that time won't be anytime soon.

Anakin's expression stays stormy as he mumbles something about 'being unreasonable' before skulking off.

Once they're certain they're alone, Sabé sinks into one of the chairs and presses her fingers to her eyes.

"I can't believe they went to the Chancellor before they even spoke to Padmé. Getting an executive order. That's so-so…" Sabé searches for a word to fully convey the cold tactics that had been employed.

"Underhanded? Calculating? Manipulative?" Saché offers, huffing. "Right up their alley I'd say. They knew she'd oppose being shipped off."

"It is for the best though, right? You two even agree," Dormé asks, eyes wide with worry.

Sabé nods, hating herself a little. It feels like a betrayal.

"Y-yes, but, still…"

"It's not what you say, it's how you say it," Saché explains. "And they went aboutthis completely wrong."

"Went about what wrong?" A pleasant voice asks, interrupting their conversation.

Obi-wan smiles pleasantly from the entry, a moody Anakin at his side.

"The retconning and making Vanco the father of Cepha," she shakes her head. "It seems a bit of a cop out and cheapens the non-biological connection Vanc and Cepha have."

Neither man looks quite sure what she's talking about.

Sabé shoots Dormé a look, telling her to stay quiet, before clearing things up for the men. "It's her stupid holo-drama."

Anakin still looks confused, but nods just the same.

"Called for backup?" Saché changes the subject, gazing coolly at Obi-wan.

Obi-wan's smile doesn't falter.

"I was coming to bring the transport information to Anakin and see how things went," he answers evenly. "I take it not well."

Saché rolls her eyes. "How could you tell? The force?"

Sabé shoots him an apologetic smile. "She's rather unhappy, as you can imagine, but she'll comply…eventually."

"Hasn't got much of a choice," Saché grumbles. "Does she now?"

"The council feels this will be the best way to protect the Senator. You must trust our judgment on this," Obi-wan tells her, eyeing her warily.

Sabé can almost hear Saché's teeth grinding down. He's said exactly the wrong thing.

"Must we?" Saché's mouth twists up in a cold smile. "Excuse me, I apparently must go and convince Padmé she must go back to Naboo. The council's judgment is never wrong."

She brushes past the men, shooting a dark look at Obi-wan as she goes, a confused Dormé hurrying after her.

Sabé forces a smile, pushing down her irritation at being herded.

"Am I allowed to ask what other plans the Council has for Padmé? Or are we expected to simply follow on faith alone?"

Her voice is even, no trace of the frustration she feels seeping out.

"I'll be investigating the bounty hunter, trying to determine who he is working for, and as soon as I am able to come to a conclusion I'll report back to the Council," Obi-wan answers, gesturing toward her, "and to the Senator of course."

Sabé nods. "I should hope so. Padmé won't take being shut out well. You'll be disappointed if you expect passive compliance."

They'll be lucky if the get any compliance.

He grimaces. "I'll keep that in mind." He gives her a weary smile. "We shall need to ask a small favor of you and your sister. In order to distract from the Senator leaving, we'll need Saché and yourself to pose as she and a handmaiden at the Senate. Nothing too involved. Just go to her office and wait for a while."

"Lucky my sister and I are around isn't it?" Sabé's eyebrows rise. "You certainly think of everything, don't you?"

It comes out more accusatory than complimentary, but Sabé doesn't care. It's feeling increasingly like the Jed council only wants their help when it's convenient to them.

He sighs. "Sabé, we aren't trying to bully you."

She shoots him a dubious look. "Positive about that?"

It's a little sharp sounding, but she shrugs off the guilt at that. He wants her friendship, and years with Padmé has taught her that friendship means disagreements. Sometimes polite, sometimes cutting. He's going to get no different treatment.

Anakin eyes narrow, sharp on her. "We're trying to help. Why are you being so difficult?"

Sabé startles at his tone, the harshness of his body language. He's furious and afraid, and ready to take his anger out on anyone available.

Suddenly, Sabé is very wary of Padmé going with Anakin.

He's volatile. There's so much anger in him, at nothing and everything, that Sabé can feel it coming off him in waves, like broiler heat.

Gripping the back of the chair nearest her, Sabé steadies her breathing, tugs at her neckline, suddenly overly warm.

She's seconds from asking them if they're hot too, when she's doused in cold. Chillier than a spring day on Hoth.

"Anakin," Obi-wan says his name in a warning way before turning his attention to Sabé.

"Sabé, the Senator is held in high regard at the Temple. Many of her beliefs are in line with ours and we just want to ensure her safety."

Sabé nods.

Despite her annoyance with the Council and their underhanded tactics, she knows it's the safest thing for Padmé.

"I know. The others know too. If you could just," she smiles weakly, shrugs, "run things by us before you make decisions? We aren't Eopie. We won't always just fall in line."

Obi-wan nods, flashes an understanding smile.

"We would never expect you too."

Sabé almost points out that they have to this point, but let's the matter die. For now, anyways.

"I'll speak with the others about the plan," Sabé tells them as she starts to leave. She's got a sister and a senator to talk down and convince to go along with a plan she hasn't got much faith in.

Not that she's got a choice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

Sabé stumbles over hem of her dress, the shoes catching in the frills.

Silently cursing, she straightens up, untangles her heel from the hem, then hurries down the hall, gripping a set of combs she'd had to dig out of storage.

They'd woken early to help Padmé get ready for her trip, then dress themselves in their respective roles.

It's nothing short of a disaster, doing intricate hair and make up for not just one but two women. It had been easier when there's been a whole host of handmaidens. It makes Sabé appreciate Eirtaé and all her incessant training. At least there's been a method to the madness.

Now it's just madness.

Saché throws a pair of shoes at Dormé, then a corset, while Sabé tosses the combs into one of the bags.

"Hold still," Dormé grunts at Padmé as she puts the final touches on her hair. "The book said this was a simple style..."

Sabé winces on Padmé's behalf as her head is jerked around. Not that Padmé notices. She's absorbed in her datapad, going over votes and sending messages to the Alderaanian Senator.

Looking in the mirror at her own hair and appearance, Sabé grimaces.

It's nowhere near as elaborate as the dress she had worn during the crisis on Naboo all those years ago, but it exudes power and confidence. Just overwhelming enough that no one will notice the small difference that the girl wearing it is not the Senator.

Adjusting the veil Saché has just thrust in her hand, Sabé turns back to the conversation.

"We're still leaving first?" She hears Saché ask.

"Yes, as soon as the Jedi arrive," Dormé answers, smiling as she finally finishes Padmé's hair.

Padmé gets up to finish her packing, so the sisters make their way to the main room to greet their guests when they arrive.

Saché collapses into one of the chairs, pulls off one of her heels and begins rubbing her already sore feet.

"Why can't flats be in fashion?" She complains.

Sabé slumps into the seat beside her, brushes the veil away and massaging her temples to ease the headache her headdress has given her. Silently, she wills the Jedi to get there quickly. She wants nothing but for the whole production to be done, get Padmé to safety and herself to Senator Organa's office for a moment of rest.

"Are the two of you ready?" Typho asks as he hurries in, Obi-wan and Anakin following close behind him.

"As ever," Saché answers, pulling Sabé up.

Typho nods.

"Your sister and yourself will go to Senator Organa's and stay there until the afternoon, then return here. Dormé and I will come back and then the two of you will be able to go about your normal business."

"How long will Dormé have to play Senator?" Sabé asks, holding the back of the chair for support.

Not for very long, hopefully. When a session is called she won't be able to vote. Besides that, the more she's out, the greater the likelihood someone will notice she's not Padmé.

Judging by Saché's stance, she's got the same concerns.

"Only a few days, just until the Senator is safely back on Naboo and hidden," Typho tells them.

"Don't see one hole in that plan at all," Saché grumbles.

"Have you got a better one?" Typho growls. "Because if you do, by all means, feel free to share."

Saché smiles, fixing Typho in a narrow look.

"I only get paid to point out problems, fixing them is above my skill set I'm told."

Typho looks ready to argue with her, but get cut off by Obi-wan's chuckling.

"I'm happy to see your charms aren't always wasted on me, Saché."

Typho sighs. "No, she's been a delight since the day I met her."

Saché feigns offense before giving Typho a grin.

"What would you do without me, Gregar?"

He chuckles. "Have fewer arguments."

Padmé finally appears, still grim faced, glancing between the sisters before pulling them both into a hug.

"Be safe."

"Don't be so melodramatic Padmé," Saché grumbles. "We'll be fine."

Padmé makes a face.

They're her oldest friends and she knows the risk they're taking. It's the risk Cordé and Versé had taken only days before, and the memory of their last moments is haunting Padmé.

She's terrified this is the last time she'll see them alive, and there's no guarantee it isn't.

Pulling back, Padmé sniffles then forces a smile.

"I know you will," she lies.

Please don't die on me, she wants to say, but keeps the worry inside.

Cutting Saché a look, Sabé knows she's seeing the same thing.

"Remember, while you're there, ask about hazard pay," Saché tells her, the picture of seriousness.

She doesn't want Padmé worrying about what she can't change, and a stupid joke is the only thing she has to offer. And it works.

Padmé's smile brightens and she rolls her eyes.

"I'll schedule it in."

The moment of levity is enough to ease Padmé some as Typho ushers the sisters out.

"Be careful," Obi-wan warns them, his smile vanished. "Both of you."

Nodding, Sabé holds her head up and pulls her veil down, follows Saché out the door to begin their charade, and hopes the stars are inclined to keep them all safe.

The day passes uneventfully, with the exception of the watching the poor delivery droid getting interrogated by the overzealous Senate guard.

Saché is so amused by the ordeal she orders three more times before they're escorted back to the apartment.

"What do you plan on doing with all this food?" The Senator asked, eying the many containers stacking up in his office.

Shrugging, Saché nibbled on a bit of protein loaf.

"I'm not sure." She'd looked at Sabé. "Where's the Scipio offices? I think I'll hide some of the more pungent stuff in their ceiling panels."

Senator Organa refused to let her, but Saché had vanished to the bathroom shortly after that, and Sabé noticed several of the containers were gone.

After passing the decoy job off to a tearful Dormé, the sisters depart for Malastare where they spend the first days watching the prime source of entertainment, podracing.

"This is awful," Sabé gasps, taking off her viewing goggles after the latest wreck.

"I can't figure out how any of them survive," Saché adds, flinching as she leans in, watching the casualty being cut out of his pod before taking them off and turning to Sabé. "Any prospects?"

They've found woefully little to pass on to Padmé during this trip. Other than fixed races and dirty card games, Malastare is a bust information wise.

While she doesn't see any possibilities, Saché obviously does.

Saché freezes in place, her movements indicating she's spotted something she finds exciting.

"What?"

"Those two!" She grins, inclining her head to a corner of the club. "Really? After last time you'd think he'd be more careful."

Sabé follows her sister's gaze to a pair groping in a booth. It's a little obscene, even in a club.

It's a Quarren, a fellow aide, and an orange Twi'lek.

For a moment Sabé simply stares, then she grins.

Exchanging a satisfied look with Saché, the sisters take off, sidestepping their way around waiters and casually rebuffing flirts.

They slide into both sides of the booth, cutting off any escape routes.

Saché snatches up the Quarren's neglected drink and tosses it back before grinning.

"Miss me, Prille?"

The Quarren rolls his eyes in disgust, the tentacles on his face quivering in agitation "Kriff, not you two again."

"Yes us, again," Saché looks around him, at the Twi'lek. "Prille, sweetness, whois your little friend? What would your delegation think? You necking it with a Twi'lek."

Prille's color changes, from a vivid red to a much darker shade, before leaning into the Twi'lek and telling her to leave under his breath.

Her giggly person evaporates, replaced by an almost bored expression as she crawls under the table and saunters away, latching onto a Kiffar moments later.

Looking irritated at losing his companion, Prille makes a frustrated noise before leaning in and growling, "What do you want? You nearly lost me my job."

"But we didn't. Nobody connects you with what happened with your darling Senator," Saché reminds him, reaching past him and taking the Twi'lek's drink and sipping it. "And don't think too much of yourself. You were hardly the only snitch."

The Quarren's tentacles shudder with an agitated breath, "Why are you here?"

Sabé gestures over her shoulder, toward the increasingly drunk and rowdy table of delegates they'd accompanied.

"Gaming commission. Our Senator's on it and wanted an eyewitness account of how the games are run here." She sets back in the seat, fixing him in a glare. "If you bothered with your own job you'd know that."

He's supposedly on the Gaming commission too.

"And that requires you to harass me and my, ah, acquaintances, why?"

Sabé rolls her eyes.

Prille is, as Padmé had so kindly described him, 'a disgusting low-life who would sell his own mother if it saved his skin'.

Sabé doubts saving his skin would even factor into the equation. A sufficient bribe of a single credit would do with Prille.

Vile as he is, he's still seful.

He'd provided them with immensely valuable information on several corrupt senators regarding a slaving ring, operating off his home planet no less. That information had hardly been handed over with a smile.

Saché, with her knack for sniffing out people in compromising situations, had several disks of Prille and a rather flexible Twi'lek doing what she would only describe as 'educational…for a porn star'.

If not for the rather xenophobic tendencies of his species, Saché's foray into freelance film making would have been pointless.

With a little gentle persuasion though, the not so subtle threat that his affair would be leaked to The Nova and end his career if he didn't help them, the Quarran had quietly handed over information on his senator's dealings and the involvement of several other. In exchange, Saché had promised she'd never reveal his indiscretion.

She'd said nothing about Sabé spilling the beans, an omission he'd failed to notice during their negotiations. His oversight provided them with a lovely loophole should they ever need it.

"Because we need something." Sabé eyes him in disgust. "We wouldn't associate with a low life like you otherwise."

"What's the ex-Senator doing these days? Eating his own young?" Saché asks, leaning in with a wicked grin.

Prille sneers, his tentacles twitching.

"As if I would know," he mutters.

"I think you would," Sabé tells him.

His tentacles twitch slightly. He definitely know something.

"And what, may I ask, would I get for telling you anything? Assuming, of course, I do know anything."

Sabé looks at Saché.

They haven't got much in the way of bribes.

The fixed race? Saché wordlessly asks.

Sabé doubts it's impressive enough for Prille, but agrees with Saché. It's worth a shot. If that fails, they know a brothel that would cater to his apparent specific tastes rather well.

Leaning in, Sabé beacons him in.

"The race tomorrow is being fixed by several of the racers and pitmen. You tell us what you know and we tell you who will win tomorrow."

As expected, the Quarran doesn't look terribly impressed, but considers the offer none the less.

He pulls out his datapad, quite obviously checking his bank account. The irksome twitch of his tentacles tells Sabé he isn't happy with the balance, lucky for them.

His tentacles fluttered unpleasantly, as he tucks his datapad away.

"Fine. There's been rumblings about him going over to the Separatists and…negotiating."

"Have there been any rumblings about the Senator from Naboo?" Sabé asks, stomach in knots.

Had Prille known about the plans against Padmé? Had he let them make attempts on her and done nothing?

It wouldn't surprise her.

"They don't like her if that's what you mean," he says simply, taking his drink back from Saché.

"Really?" Saché arches an eyebrow. "Couldn't have guessed that."

Prille ignores her.

"That," he looks around covertly, "Dooku. He's been strengthening his base. I would imagine that would mean taking care of your darling Senator."

When he waves one of the attendants over, requests more drinks, Saché and Sabé agree he's told them all he knows.

He's not nearly clever enough to conceal anything from them. All he wants now is Corellian Whiskey and another Twi'lek.

"Taros Nueve. He's a long shot, which works out to a Hutt sized payout," Saché tells him as she scoots out of the booth, Sabé close behind.

Prille's tentacled face glows, apparently pleased with the information. "Pleasure doing business with such fine ladies."

Once they're out of earshot, Sabé shudders.

"I feel like I need to take several showers to get the slim off."

"More like a chemical laced scrub," Saché gags.

They wander to the bustling bar where Saché orders up rather frightening looking drinks for each of them.

Sabé makes a face as she sips the fiery concoction. Saché doesn't even flinch, just smiles cheekily at a dark haired man setting several seats down.

His lips quirk up, clearly interested, but then the comm on his arm lights up and he leaves.

Saché's lips pucker in disgust at the snub and she sulks, ordering another drink.

Worried about dragging a drunk Saché back to their room, Sabé nudges her.

"I think we've gotten all we're going to get out of the night."

"I know," Saché sighs, spinning on her stool and surveying the bar for more possible information gathering opportunities before turning back to Sabé. "We aren't going to hear anything I'm afraid. People are being too tight lipped these days."

"I'm almost tempted to say we should head back to Coruscant," Sabé admits as they get on the turbo.

They've done nothing but drink and bet the solid time they've been there. It's wasteful and tiring.

"Let's not get rash here," Saché tells her, tapping the interactive wall and pulling up the next day's races. "I've got a Quarran to split some winnings with tomorrow."

#######

Sabé is deep in sleep when she hears the angry beeping of the holoprojector announcing a message.

"Answer it," Sabé tells Saché.

"You," Saché mutters.

"No...you."

"You."

Saché takes a pillow and tightly clamps it over her head, blocking the noise and Sabé's insistence.

After glaring at Saché for a moment, mumbling a few choice words, Sabé slowly crawls out of bed and hits the machine.

It hums, the projector warming up, then the image forms.

Sabé glares up, bleary eyed and still half asleep, at the flickering blue figure. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"

The image of Padmé gasps.

"Oh! I hadn't really thought about that. Sorry," she apologizes.

"What is it?" Saché asks through a yawn, propping herself up, eyes still only half open.

Padmé's shifts, her stance stiffens. Even through the terrible reception, both Saché and Sabé can tell she's feeling guilty.

She'd have to be to wake them up at such an obscene hour.

She's planning something stupid. Something amazingly stupid.

"What are you planning Padmé?" Sabé ask, running a weary hand over her face.

Shifting uncomfortably, Padmé straightens her gown before taking a deep breath.

It's going to be a whopper.

"Anakin and I are going to Tatooine."

Sabé is too stunned for words. It's even worse than she'd imagined.

"Why?" Saché asks, fully awake now, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl etched on her face. "Are you joking? That's a terrible joke if so."

Padmé shakes her head, sets her face in its sternest look.

"Anakin's been having nightmares about his mother. Terrible visions. We're going to Tatooine to look for her."

Saché groans. "You know what? I had a nightmare too, Pads. The Nubian Senator disregarded all the hard work and sacrifice her friends made for her and went to a planet controlled by a giant gangster slug to help a Jedi with bad dreams. It's probably just something he ate."

Padmé shakes her head.

"These visions aren't just nightmares though, Sach," Padmé whispers. "I really believe he's seeing something."

Sabé wrings her hands, bites her lip.

"Padmé please don't do this. It's a very bad, awful, terrible idea," Sabé pleads, knowing she's fighting a losing battle.

Padmé shakes her head. "No, and it's too late. We're already en route."

Saché flops back on her bed with a groan

"Forgiveness not permission again then? I take it you haven't told Typho?"

"No, I haven't," Padmé frowns. "Neither of you two are going to tell him either. I'm just telling the both of you so they can't say I didn't let anyone know."

"Spreading the trouble, how very thoughtful of you," Saché mutters, taking her pillow and putting it over face again.

Sabé rubs her face with her hands and hopes against hope this is just a very unfortunate nightmare all her own.

Looking up, she sees the bluish figure looking down at her, eyes wide and pleading.

Not a nightmare then.

"Anakin will be with me the whole time," she assures them. "He'll protect me with his life."

"I'm sure he will," Saché's muffled voice says, from under the pillow.

Padmé rolls her eyes.

"As soon as we locate Anakin's mother well head straight back for Naboo," she promises. "No matter what, I'll keep you updated on our plans."

Sabé presses her fingers to her temples. "I should hope so. They'll want a very thorough explanation from us during the disciplinary meeting will be subjected to when they hear what you've done."

"I'll be fine," she tells her. "The both of you, be safe. I'll see you soon."

Then her image flickers off, leaving only the light from the decorative neon chrono glowing in the room.

The bed creaks and Sabé hears Saché sigh.

"I have a very bad feeling about this."

Nodding, Sabé collapses back.

"Me too."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

The girls don't go back to bed.

Saché threatens a few businessmen to give them transport back to Coruscant within an hour of Padmé's transmission.

"Should we tell Typho?" Sabé wonders, pacing in the grimy floor of the freighter.

"She'll kill us," Saché reminds her, before grimacing and adding, "If she doesn't get herself killed first."

Deciding Padmé being furious with them is preferable to her being dead, or worse, the resolve to tell Typho as soon as they land.

Only he's nowhere to be found.

"Of all the times for him to get a life," Saché grumbles.

"He and Dormé will return this evening," the droid tells them. "They're sequestered at the Senate."

That's all the droid will tell them though, and when they try to comm both him and Dormé they're met with the irritating noise indicating the comms are off.

"This is ridiculous."

Sabé nods, staring out the window of their room.

In the distance, she spots the spires of the Jedi Temple.

Anakin...

Spinning on her spot on the bed, Sabé yelps, "The Jedi!"

Saché makes a face. "Ew."

"No listen, we tell them. They can go get them, and Padmé will be safe," Sabé explains. "Anakin will get in trouble…and stars know this probably isn't entirely his fault...but they'll be safe."

It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing.

Saché huffs. "Yeah, well, he should have thought about that before he went gallivanting across the galaxy with our Senator." Saché snaps her fingers. "Oh! And the best part is, she can't say we told them. For all she knows, those sneaky bastards have a tracking device implanted in that ugly braid they've got Anakin wearing."

Sabé doubts Padmé will accept that explanation, but doesn't argue. They need to move fast.

"So we should tell them?"

Looking disgusted at the very thought, Saché nods. "Yes."

Digging through Padmé's closet, they find desert appropriate outfits and boots and start for the door, only to be stopped by one of the guards.

"Senator Amidala is wishing to speak with you."

They exchange worried glances.

"You don't think she used her super-senator-senses and knew we were about to go rat her out, do you?" Saché asks, panic coloring her features.

"I don't think so, Sach," Sabé whispers, though she isn't confident in that answer.

They take a few more steps.

"Maybe she just knows we raided her closet," Saché offers. "She did threaten to put a monitor on it after we ruined those custom shimmer silk evening gowns."

Sabé shakes her head. "No."

Padmé had been threatening that since they were handmaidens, and she'd never followed through.

It would be so much simpler if she were just calling to scold them for stealing clothing.

The guard leaves them as they enter the main room and see the familiar image of Padmé flickering from the projector. Her face is grim.

Not the dresses then.

Saché shoots the image a withering look. "Oh Padmé. What now?"

"Please tell us you're leaving Tatooine."

"I'm leaving Tatooine," Padmé says.

The sisters stare silently at their friend's image. She's hardly done at that.

"And...?" Saché prompts her, waving an impatient hand.

"We're going to Geonosis," Padmé adds.

They're silent for a moment, digesting just how stupid what she's said is, before groaning.

"Geonosis?" Sabé asks. "What-why Geonosis? Do you know how dangerous that place is?"

It's worse than Tatooine.

"Why?" Saché mutters, pulling at her hair before glaring up at the holo image. "What are you doing? Going on a Jedi sponsored tour of depressing desert planets?"

Padmé's lips actually quirk up before she sighs.

"If I tell you this, you are forbidden from telling anyone."

It's not a promising sign.

Saché presses her fingers to her temples. "Oh-just tell us already."

Padmé glances around, then takes a breath.

"We received a transmission from Geonosis. It was from Obi-wan. He's followed the bounty hunter there. There's been an army or some such being," her nose wrinkles in disgust, "created, according to him. When he got to Geonosis he found the Separatists, but now they've captured him."

Silence settles over them again, broken by Saché's sigh.

"You're going after him," she states bleakly.

Padmé nods.

While Sabé appreciates that Anakin is probably the driving force behind this expedition, she isn't happy Padmé is being dragged along. No matter how willing she undoubtedly wa.

Sabé cuts Saché a look. They're both thinking the same thing. There's no way Padmé is going to that nasty planet without them.

"No!" Padmé suddenly shouts, apparently sensing their plotting.

Saché manages an innocent expression. "What?"

"I know that look, and no! You are to stay on Coruscant, which, by the way is not where you are supposed to be in the first place, and you are not to say a word to anyone about this."

Her voice is firm, final. She won't debate this.

"Padmé, please!" Sabé begs.

"We've relayed the message to the Council and I have no doubt that they'll be coming," Padmé reassured them. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Saché looks dubious. "Padmé, I've never felt less reassured about anything. That's including when Rabe told me my hair looked just wonderful blonde."

Padmé frowns, the image wanes. "We're almost out of range. Stay put."

With that she flickers off, leaving the girls fuming.

"We aren't going to listen to her are we?" Sabé asks, already knowing the answer.

Saché crosses her arms, still glaring at the place Padmé image had been.

"Not a chance."

#######

The girls nearly knock over several people in their hurry to get to the Jedi Temple.

They commandeer a speeder from a very confused guard, then zoom off, shouting thank you's as afterthoughts to him.

Sabé pushes the speeder to its limit, zipping in and out of traffic, running traffic signals, and probably causing a few accidents as she worries out loud.

"What if we're too late? What if they've already headed for Geonosis?"

"Then we beg, borrow, and steal until we get ourselves there!"

By the time they reach the Temple they've come up with an elaborate contingency plan involving kidnapping a Jedi, stealing the fastest ship they can find, and using said Jedi to fly the stolen ship.

Saché makes a face after repeating the plan. "Ugh. No wonder they told me I wasn't allowed to make plans. This makes Padmé's plans sound reasonable and well thought out."

"Let's hope it stays a secondary option," Sabé agrees.

They abandon their speeder at the bottom of the steps up to the Temple, jumping out and rushing up, barreling over anyone that gets in their way.

"Move!"

"Out of the way!"

Bursting through the doors, they skidded to a stop when a pair of boy jump in front of them, blocking their path.

She doesn't blame him. They probably look mad, running through his home dressed in desert wear.

"Stop," the taller of the two commands them, holding up a hand, his face screwed up in concentration. "Tell us where you're going?"

Something warm prickles at Sabé's conscious, like the heat that had radiated off Anakin, but much more fragile. It rolls past her in a breath, nothing but a breeze.

Saché grabs the boy by the front of his robes, shakes her head.

"That only works on the weak minded, sweetness."

Sabé frowns as she realizes what she's said.

She doesn't have enough time to process it though as the boy struggles against her sister. It only causes her to hold him tighter.

"Where's the council? We need a word with them."

Eyes widening, panicking, he shouts for the smaller boy to do something.

Sabé watches the little one, no more than ten, look around frantically then she hears something ignite behind her.

Turning, she finds a girl, definitely older than the boys, rushing toward then, lightsaber alight.

Heart pounding, Sabé grabs Saché and dives down, planning on dodging the glowing blade.

The girl is too fast though, adjusts her path when she sees them rolling away. It does her no good though. Her lightsaber flickers out before it can even singe either girls' hair.

For a moment the girl stares at the hilt of her weapon, shakes it, clicks it multiple times, before tossing it aside and lunging at the sisters.

She's strong, but she seems to have trouble getting a grip on either one of them as they roll around ridiculously on the Temple floor.

"Let go!" Saché snarls, finally getting the upper hand, squishing the girl's face to the ground as Sabé grapples with her flailing legs. "What is wrong with all of you?"

Sabé starts to remind her they'd behaved a bit suspiciously, but doesn't get to.

More heat swells up, hitting them from the sides, and just as Sabé is about to look for the source, someone shouts

"Stop!"

The girl stops struggling and both Sabé and Saché look up.

Hobbling toward them, cane clicking between each grunt as he walks, is the little green Jedi. Yoda.

He stops just short of them, his wrinkled face squinting.

"Attacking a padawan, I see. Why, I must ask?" He asks, creaky voice somehow commanding respect.

Getting up, Saché pointedly steps on the girl as she walks toward him. "Ah, Yoga, just who we were looking for."

Sabé nods, getting up and offering a hand to the girl who only glares in response.

Ignoring the rebuff, she had just wrestled her down after all, Sabé turns back to Yoda. "This really isn't the place to discuss anything."

"Especially after you've made such a commotion," another Jedi growls, eyeing them angrily.

"They were attacking Cree," the girl tells Yoda, picking up her discarded lightsaber. "And they broke my lightsaber."

"You broke it on your own," Saché snaps. "And that brat tried to mess with our minds. He's lucky I didn't knock him into next Centaxday."

Taking the hilt from the girl, Yoda turns it over in his gnarled hands before trying to activate it. Nothing happens.

Frowning, he looks at the girl.

"The use of a weapon is never to be taken lightly," he tells her. "Discuss this, we will, when I return. As well as the improper use of your powers on other's minds, mmm."

Both the boy and girl pale, but neither argues.

"Go. To your studies." He waves them off.

Then he turns to the sisters.

He studies them for a moment, his expression guarded.

Looking at the useless lightsaber in his hand, he frowns.

"Tell me why you've come her, you will."

It's not a command, more a request, and he seems almost wary to make it.

"We need your help," Sabé begins, dropping to her knees in front of him. "Pad-Senator Amidala- she's left Naboo. She's gone to Geonosis with Anakin to rescue Obi-wan!"

He nods. "Know this, already I do. To retrieve young Skywalker, Obi-wan, and your Senator, we shall go."

"Good," Saché tells him. "We'll be coming to oversee the rescue."

He shakes his head. "No. Return to the Senator's apartment, you shall."

"Padmé and Anakin went to Geonosis to help Obi-wan. They're in danger! We aren't going to just sit here on Coruscant when we could be helping! We aren't as useless or as helpless as you seem to think we are!" Sabé half sobs.

They hadn't come all this way and fought their way through the Temple just to be turned back.

Saché stares for a moment, grinding her teeth, then crosses her arms, her expression relaxing.

"You have to take us. According to the Senatorial Order of Conduct, section 66, that if a guard is found in dereliction of duty it is the responsibility of the guard's commanding officer to provide means and assistance to the wronged party's council." She pointed first to herself, then to Sabé. "We would be the wronged party's council. And if you refuse to take us you'll be held in contempt, and if you think I'm bluffing, you're wrong."

Sabé barely manages to keep her jaw from dropping.

Saché isn't lying about holding him in contempt. She's lying about the Order. She completely fabricated the entire thing, and betting on Master Yoda not knowing any better.

It's hardly the biggest lie she's ever concocted, but still…

It's a gamble, and Sabé is sure it's going to get them in more trouble than they've ever been.

Lying to a Jedi and beating up a child, even if the child started it, is going to be the final straw with the oversight committee.

Eyes narrowed, Master Yoda inspects her closely for a moment, but Saché doesn't flinch. She's committed to her lie.

Harrumphing, Master Yoda taps his cane on the ground in front of him.

"Nearing nine hundred years old, I am," he finally says. "Lying to me, hard it is."

"Well, maybe you just don't know everything," Saché counters, standing her ground.

He eyes her warily, then turns his gaze on Sabé, nods to himself.

"Right, perhaps you are."

Turning, he hobbles a few feet before looking over his shoulder.

"Come, come, go we must."

Saché makes a confused noise. "Wait. You-your letting us come? Even though I lied?"

He chuckles, starts hobbling along again.

"Mmm, much to teach me, you and your sister have, Miss Lindzee."

Nose wrinkled, Saché shoots Sabé a baffled look.

Don't look a gift Wookie in the mouth, Sabé wordlessly tells her before hurrying after the tiny Master.

They ride the lift up in silence, Master Yoda humming the entire time.

When they step off, the bald Jedi from their meeting greets them, his expression stormy.

"What are these two doing here?"

"We're educating," Saché answers coolly.

"Coming with me, Senator Amidala's aides are," Master Yoda explains. "Help me, they will."

Saché shoots him a triumphant look, while Sabé watches him warily.

"This is not a day trip," he tells them.

Saché clicks her tongue in disappointment. "Oh really? And here I was thinking we were going to a Zeltron rave."

"He already said we could go," Sabé tells him, gesturing to Master Yoda. "We're wasting time."

Padmé is in danger. This isn't up for debate. They're going, whether he likes it or not.

After a tense few seconds, he shoots Master Yoda a dark look before turning to walk away.

"It's going to be dangerous," he calls over his shoulder.

Saché grins.

"I'm dangerous, sweetness."

#######

They're sequestered in a small room away from the Jedi in the port.

"Much to discuss, Master Windu and I have," Master Yoda had told them. "Problems, we have."

Saché sits on the small bench along the wall. Her limbs are all crossed, knotted painfully tight as she glares a hole in the door, waiting for someone to come tell them what's going on.

Sabé twists her fingers anxiously as she paces, worried that they won't make it in time, that Padmé, Obi-wan, and Anakin will be hurt or worse…

Finally, the door swishes open and a familiar green face greets them.

"Ladies," the green tentacles on Kit's head sway in a friendly way.

"Kit, what a lovely surprise," Sabé greets him, happy to see at least one Jedi that genuinely seems to like them.

Saché flashes him a cheeky grin. "Come to spring us?"

"Only if you promise to behave," he teases.

"Unrealistic," Saché snorts.

He chuckles, a deep, warm rumble.

"Oh? Perhaps-"

"Master Fisto," Master a Windu interrupts him, stepping through the door with Master Yoda. "Perhaps you can catch up with your friends later."

His tentacles swaying, clearly unbothered by his fellow Jedi's tone, Kit gestures for them to go on.

"Know of Kamino, you do?" Master Yoda asks.

Sabé frowns.

She'd heard of it a few times. Her Nammy had complained about them occasionally, how they'd come to the brothel to recruit beings for their experiments.

"They run off business," she'd grumble, taking a long draw of her cigarette. "They're creepy. Those long necks..."

Thankfully, they also rarely went off planet. They were secretive and selective about who they interacted with, which made them rare enough that Nam didn't kick them out of the bar as long as they bought something. There credits spent as well as anyone else's and they spent plenty for the pleasure of using her business to hunt down participants.

"Kamino?" She looks at Saché, who appears just as baffled as she is. "The cloners?"

"What do they have to do with anything?" Saché asks.

Master Yoda ignores her question.

"Hm. Good. To Kamino with me, you will go."

Sabé instantly shakes her head and Saché makes a harsh noise.

"What?" She snaps.

"To Kamin-"

"No I heard you," Saché cuts him off. "What I mean is: No. No we will not be going to Kamino with you, or anyone for that matter."

"Yes you will," Master a Windu firmly tells them.

Sabé fixes him in her sternest glare. "No. We're not Jedi and we don't take orders from anyone but Padmé."

"And even then it's a gamble," Saché adds.

"You are not coming to Geonosis. We can't take civilians into what may very well turn into a fight," he tells them, crossing his arms in an attempt to intimidate them.

It doesn't work.

"We're not kriffing going to Kamino," Saché repeats.

"Why go to Kamino anyway? What's the point? The trouble is on Geonosis," a Sabé reminds them.

Kit walk steps in, smiling, his unblinking eyes on the girls. "Ladies, if I may explain."

"Don't try to charm us Kit," Saché warns him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckles. "I would simply like to see if we can't come to an understanding of sorts."

Sabé sighs. They're wasting time. "We're listening."

"We need to investigate what's been occurring on Kamino. Master Yoda may need assistance when he gets there, the planet is missing from our archives, you see? You girls are quite gifted in getting what you want." His tentacles twitch in amusement at that. "Your particular abilities may be needed. You are not warriors, your talents lay elsewhere, please, simply consider this."

Glancing at Saché, Sabé silently asks her what she thinks

This is ridiculous, Saché tells her wordlessly.

If it gets them closer to Padmé though...

They can always steal Master Yoda's ship, if nothing else.

Saché's stony expression doesn't change, but Sabé knows she likes that plan.

"We'll go to Kamino," Sabé finally tells them.

Exchanging uncertain looks, the Jedi nod.

"Good." Master Yoda croaks, waving his cane. "Come. To Kamino, we go."

Brushing past Kit and Master Windu, the girls follow Master Yoda.

Saché turns, waves a hand.

"Bye, Kit." Her nose wrinkles. "Later, Window."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

After the adrenalin rush of the past few hours the ride to Kamino is deflating.

Saché nods in and out of consciousness, leaving Sabé left with only her thoughts and Master Yoda for company.

Her thoughts jump first to Padmé, wondering if she's still alive or if they're too late. Then her worries shift to Obi-wan. He's been captive for who knows how long. Is he still alive? Is he hurt? Will Anakin and Padmé be any help to him?

Will the Jedi chuck poor Anakin out for going to save him? For taking Padmé?

Falling back in her seat, she presses her fingers to her eyes.

"Troubled you are, young one," Master Yoda croaks.

Taking a breath, Sabé sits up and finds him staring at her from his perch, his wrinkled face focused on her.

Pulling her cloak closer, there's an odd chill in the air, Sabé shrugs. "Aren't you?"

He chuckles, points a gnarled finger at her. "No good it does, to worry. Trust in the Force, I do."

Sabé shoots him an apologetic smile. "You'll forgive me, but trusting in the force doesn't seem to be doing much good at the moment."

In fact, she'd say it's done them no good. Unless he knows something she doesn't, his force has failed him and them in spectacular fashion. Either that, or he doesn't understand it, isn't as in tune with it, as much as he thinks.

"Uncertain, the future is," he tells her, crawling down and hobbling toward her. "Fear it, control it, we cannot."

It's a ridiculous sentiment to Sabé, to be so passive, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.

Instead she studies him as he grunts and clicks toward her.

The way he holds his cane, the minuscule twitches on his face, the way his ears move…

She isn't certain, she's got no experience with his species, whatever it is, but she'd almost bet he's lying. He's afraid, maybe of the future, maybe of what he'll find on Kamino, maybe for Padmé, Anakin, and Obi-wan, maybe for all of it, but he won't voice. It could be just for her he's keeping his worries hidden, but she almost wonders if the feeling is so foreign he can't recognize it in himself.

"The Jedi stifle their emotions," Nam had told them during a trip to Barcaria, when they'd met a pair at a cafe. "They act like they're peaceful and beyond concern, but under all that...it's there."

"What's there?" Sabé asked, tottering after her.

"All the things they pretend aren't." Nam smiled, telling and mysterious all at once. "A man can only deny himself so much."

Sabé stumbled, caught by Saché. "What's that-that mean?"

Nam had stopped, considered her answer for a moment, then started walking again.

"I've met one," she'd said simply.

"We met two!" Sabé reminded her, pointing back at the cafe excitedly.

Chuckling, Nam stopped and smoothed Sabé's hair.

"It was more than a brush in a cafe, child."

Saché had made a face, clearly understanding what was being implied. "Ew."

Looking at Master Yoda, Sabé wonders if in his nine hundred years of life he's felt how disconnected he is from the people of the galaxy, just what his devotion has blinded him to. How many have died because of his trust in the force?

Stopping just short of her, Master Yoda's eyes focus on her, squinting. He's looking for something, though she's not sure what.

He glances over his shoulder, to where Saché is silently sleeping, his gaze just as intense, before turning back.

Whatever he's trying to divine from them, searching for so intensely, he either can't find or isn't certain of. His expression settles into something Sabé would call frustrated as he mutters unintelligibly to himself.

Finally, he taps his cane, smiles and nods. "Very capable, Obi-Wan and Anakin are."

From across the room, Saché snorts.

Sitting up, she stretches, pops her neck, then gets up and comes over, leaning a shoulder against the wall as she shoots Master Yoda an incredulous look.

"If Beardie were capable he wouldn't have gotten his choobies caught."

Master Yoda's lips twitch, amused and annoyed in the same breath. "A point, perhaps you have."

"So should I teach you Jedi stealth and evasion? Avoid this kind of thing in the future?" Saché asks.

Ignoring her, Master Yoda sighs and hobbles away, toward the cockpit.

Shaking her head, Saché sighs.

"So much for my teaching him anything."

#######

The wind and water whip Sabé's clothes and her hair, soaking her to the bone the moment she steps off the ship and onto the landing dock on Kamino. They'd prepared for a desert, not a storm.

Saché grabs her by the wrist as they steady themselves and follow the tiny Jedi Master into the building.

Struggling against the wind, they half fall through the doors, which deftly shut behind them.

They're immediately plunged into an eerie silence, so quiet Sabé is certain the can hear her and Saché's hearts beating. Inside the doors it's sterile and white, static and clean. A stark contrast to the roaring tempest outside.

Sabé is so stunned by the sharp change of surroundings that she doesn't hear one of the Kaminoan glide up.

"Master Jedi," a tall, pale Kaminoan greets them, her glassy eyes grazing over Master Yoda and then the girls. "Ladies. It's a delight to meet you. I am Taun We."

"Good to meet you, it is," Master Yoda tells her. "Come, at the request of Obi-wan Kenobi, I have."

She nods. "We'd hoped to see you soon. This is a pleasant surprise."

Sabé almost laughs. The Kaminoans are hoping for another order, more money.

She leads them down a long, painfully white hall, to a large room with a curved ceiling. Inside, sitting at a plain desk, is the only occupant, another slender Kaminoan. Taun We waves her arm gracefully towards him.

"Prime Minister Lama Su."

She turns back to Yoda and the girls, gestures to them. "This is Grand Master Yoda and his companions."

Saché's expression doesn't change, but Sabé can tell it irks her to be referred to as anyone's 'companion'. She'll probably have a few words with Master Yoda about introductions next chance she gets.

"Master Jedi," the Prime Minister begins, standing and towering over Master Yoda. "I hope your fellow Jedi assured you of our progress?"

Yoda nods. "Impressed, Master Kenobi was. To see the clones for myself, I have come."

Sabé barely has a moment to register what he's said.

Clones? Of course clones. Genetic tinkering and customer cloning is what Kamino is known for. She should've realized it before.

Never though, not in her wildest dreams, would she have imagined they'd created a clone army. Who would want such thing?

Before she can so much as form a single sentence, she's cut off.

"Of course." The Prime Minister tells them, looking obscenely delighted for a Kaminoan. He's already imagining more credits for future jobs.

He leads them out of the room and to a balcony overlooking what at first Sabé thinks is a factory floor. Squinting down, she gasps.

It is a factory, from a certain point of view.

On the floor below, hundreds, maybe thousands of identical men are being trained, fed, clothed, any and everything an army would need to function.

It's as impressive as it is awful.

"There are so many of them," Sabé whispers, wondering just what they're going to do with their unwanted army.

Saché chews her lip, her mind puzzling over the same thing.

"Padmé's not going to like this."

#######

"You'll be wanting to take the ready units now, I presume?"

Master Yoda's expression is guarded as he looks out at the men below, the so called 'units'.

Saché watches the Kaminoan for a moment, then to Sabé, curious if she's caught hold of the same thread as her.

Master Yoda is testing them for some reason.

Well then, Saché silently says, let's see if we pass.

"A question, if I may, Prime Minister?"

The shimmering eyes of the Prime Minister leave Master Yoda and settle on Saché.

"The master that placed this order, what was his name?"

Sabé almost laughs at the way Master Yoda's ears rise in surprise.

He hadn't expected them to realize a Jedi had started this. It's easy enough to decipher though. He'd deliberately left that detail out, but why?

The Prime Minister tilts his head, thinking she should have done better research before coming, before answering. "Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas was the one to place this order, for the Republic."

"Of course," Saché nods, smiles apologetically. "I'd forgotten."

The name is familiar, and Sabé searches her memory for why...

Master Yoda purses his lips and watches the girls before turning back to the Prime Minister. "Speak with the ladies in private, I will."

Nodding, the Prime Minister makes a small bow before turning, leaving the girls and Master Yoda.

"Disturbing, this is."

Sabé crosses her arms, glares down at him. "Why would one of your council put in an order for an army and claim it was for the Republic?"

From what the Kaminoan had said, this purchase was placed well before the Military Creation Act was even a consideration. What had they known? Why hadn't they told anyone?

"And why didn't you pass that small detail on to us?" Saché asks. "What game are you playing?"

"Game?" Master Yoda shakes his green head. "No game. As confused by this as you are, I am."

"So you're supposed to be policing the galaxy, but you can't even keep watch over your own house?" Saché takes a long breath, closes her eyes. "Unbelievable."

He looks back over his shoulder, at the clones just outside the doors.

"Were you testing us?" Sabé finally asks. "You and the Council didn't trust our information. Was this a test to see if we could really know what we know?"

He doesn't answer, but his silence is enough.

"You want everyone else to take your word on nothing but the force, but you need proof with us," Saché finally says, her voice low. "What in the nine hell did we ever do to you?"

He stares at them for a moment, that look of searching still there, before he sighs.

"Nothing, you have done. Foolish, we were, to doubt your commitment to you friend." He sighs. "Hard to read, you are…and old prejudices, hard they are to abandon."

It's not quite an apology, but Sabé doubts they'll ever get that. She'll take what she gets, even if she doesn't know what prejudice they'd have against her and her sister.

Nodding, Sabé takes a breath. They can rail against the Jedi later. They still need to get to Padmé, and this isn't getting the anywhere.

"What do you plan on doing with them now?" She gestures to the clones outside the door, ready to move on. "I mean we can't just leave them here. Their being treated like-like…"

"Products," Saché offers, nose wrinkled.

"This place is terrible," Sabé adds, shaking her head. "Genetically modified? More docile and susceptible to suggestion? Growth acceleration? They've created a child army without a will of their own. Human cannon fodder."

It's unconscionable.

Master Yoda nods, his frowns growing more severe with each word Sabé speaks.

"To Master Windu, I must speak."

He pulls out a very small, handheld communication device and activates it. After a few moments Windu's image flickered to life in his palm.

"Master Yoda."

"Disturbing, what I have found on Kamino. What to do, I am unsure."

Windu's face hardens.

"I'm afraid I don't have any good news here either. We've had several stealth droids scouting Geonosis and I'm not sure we have enough forces. I'm also fairly sure they know we're coming." He sighs. "This may turn into a suicide mission."

He says nothing of the three missing persons, and that bodes ominous to Sabé.

Yoda shakes his head, deep in thought for what seems like several minutes before he finally looks up, expression grim.

"Bring the clones, for aid, I will. Then put an end to this mystery, perhaps, they can."

"Ah," Sabé raises a hand, "is that a good idea? I mean, we don't want to leave them here, but...taking them and using them to fight for us? They're still clones of the man who was hired to assassinate our senator."

"In case you forgot," Saché huffs, crossing her arms and glaring.

"Need help, we do," he tells them, shaking his head, staring at the ground. "Use what we have, we must. Be in touch, Master Windu. May the Force be with you."

He clicks the image away and begins hobbling toward the door to retrieve the Prime Minister. There will be no discussion.

The Prime Minister glides back in, looking expectantly at the Jedi and girls. "Have you come to a decision?"

Nodding, Master Yoda speaks. "Take the ready troops, we will. Soon, we will need them."

Face brightening more than Sabé thought possible, the Prime Minister nods. "Oh yes. We have transports prepared for such an event. They can be ready to leave within half an hour."

"Well that's convenient," Saché mutters, looking begrudgingly impressed. She smiles faintly. "At least we're finally going to Geonosis."

#######

Master Yoda's ship is loaded onto the large troop transport as Sabé and Saché watch.

Hundreds of troopers line the walls of the transport, dressed in white armor, the hum of their chatter filling the space.

"This is bad," Sabé mutters, her fingers twisting together as she's watches more troops marching in.

"Oh sissy," Saché sighs, pressing her fingers to her eyes. "You're getting a thesaurus for your life day. Bad doesn't even touch this."

Master Yoda appears a moment later, walking toward them while speaking with one of the troopers. When he reaches them, he looks up, taps his cane on the ground.

"Settle in for the trip, you should. Direct you to seats, the Commander will."

The helmeted figure beside him nods and motions for them to follow him.

Deciding they'd rather sit with the clones than the secretive Jedi, Sabé and Saché follow the trooper without argument.

Linking her arm with his, Saché looks up into the trooper's visor. "So, nice weather we're having?"

He stops, head tilting as he studies her for a moment, then he untangles his arm from hers. "Yes."

Saché grins. "Not much for small talk, are you sweetness?"

"No."

Sabé snorts.

He points them to a pair of seats between two of his fellow clones. Dropping into the spots and pulling the straps from behind them, they start to secure themselves.

The harnesses have no more than clicked when they exchange wary looks.

One of the troopers is staring, very blatantly at Saché, and if the hair prickling up on Sabé's neck is any indication, there's one staring at her too.

"You've got an admirer," Saché tells her.

Sabé nods. "I'm not the only one."

Shrugging, Saché settles back in her seat, gesturing for Sabé to do the same.

Despite their ignoring them, the troopers don't stop staring.

Saché finally rolls her eyes, turns her head and arches an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

His head tilts and he leans in, within an inch of her face. "What are you?"

Saché grimaces, leaning back and into Sabé. "Increasingly uncomfortable."

He sits back and another trooper peaks around him. "No. What are you?"

Saché's mouth hangs open for a moment as she looks over her shoulder at Sabé.

What's wrong with them? Hadn't they ever-

It immediately clicks. It's so obvious.

Saché snorts with laughter and Sabé groans. They've never seen girls before. At least not human girls anyways.

"Well, I'm Sabé and this is my sister, Saché."

The trooper takes his helmet off. He's a man, dark complexion, honey brown eyes, and black hair. In the outside world she guess he was older than her, but the childlike shin in his eyes, innocent confusion, points to the truth. He's simply a young soul in a body much older.

He frowns, reminding Sabé of a toddler learning a word for the first time. "Sisters?"

"Yeah, you know, we had the same miserable childhood," Saché explains.

He looks no less confused.

"We're girls," Sabé tells him, hoping that's clearer.

"Girls," he nods, repeating the word but still not seeming to grasp the concept.

"Females," Saché attempts.

It doesn't seem to help.

Sabé frowns.

How had their Nam explains the difference between boys and girls to them?

In an undoubtedly inappropriate way, she thinks with a snort. Since she can't actually remember, she decides to see what information they've been told, if any.

"What do you know about girls?" She finally asks, hoping the Kaminoans had bothered with some basics. She doubts it. These men were bred for war, not life.

"Girls? Females?" One of the troopers clarifies.

"Yes," Saché nods, grabbing her breasts. "Giiirrrllls."

"That you're...not male," the trooper staring at Sabé answers. "Females are smaller and lighter, as a general rule in humans. They bear children."

He stops, his expression clearly curious if he's got it right.

"Well...that's more or less correct," Sabé finally says.

For several minutes they sit, silently debating what to do, before Saché lets out a long sigh.

Well, we've got time to kill, she wordlessly tells her. She's going to make sure there's no gaps in their education.

"I guess biology wasn't on the clone curriculum."

She sits back and crosses her arms, wrinkles her nose in thought.

"Where should we start?" She snaps her fingers. "Anatomy. Well, for starters boys and girls have different parts…"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.

"APPROACHING PLANET. ENGAGE SAFETY DEVICES."

Sabé looks around from her perch, at the armor clad men now running around, scurrying to their seats.

Saché sighs, smiling wanly at the small crowd of men that's formed around her during the trip to Geonosis.

"Lesson's over for the day, boys." She holds up a finger, expression brightening. "When next we meet, I'll teach you about the mating rituals of some of the foremost civilizations in the galaxy!"

Her sister had spent the trip giving the troopers, in her words, the 'quick and dirty' facts of life.

"They're woefully ignorant," she'd sighed.

Anatomy, biology, mechanics, as Saché so tactfully named it, and etiquette, were all heavily covered.

Sabé is certain her and Saché's own grasp of the subjects are somewhat skewed, their Nam hadn't shielded them from the harsher aspects of reality, the darker desires most beings held, but Naboo and their training had softened their views some. The lessons Saché gave the men was far gentler than the ones they'd received as children.

Sabé snorts at the distressed looks on several of the men's faces as they exchange worried glances, clearly thinking they won't get the rest of Saché's indispensable information.

One of the men raises a hand, like a youngling in school. "Wait, I don't understand that last bit. What are we supposed to do with the-"

The question dies as he spots Master Yoda hobbling toward their group.

"Ready yourselves, you must. When reach the planet, we do, prepare for battle," Master Yoda tells them.

"We're gonna need a translator for these poor guys," Saché mutters under her breath, as the group disperses.

Sabé snorts at that, trying to cover it with a violent sneeze.

One of the troopers puts his helmet back on before gently pushing the girls toward their seats.

"Thanks sweetness," Saché tells him, plopping into her seat.

"You're welcome, sir," he replies, nodding sharply.

Saché cringes, shakes her head and corrects him, "Not 'sir. It's miss."

Sabé nods in agreement.

The carrier rocks as they enter the atmosphere. Sabé grips the front of her seat and waits for the ship to stop shaking. Slowly the rumbling quiets and the ship steadies as the PA roars overhead again.

"PREPARE FOR INITIATION."

Troopers spring to life around them.

Exchanging knowing looks, Sabé and Saché fling their harnesses off and run.

Between anatomy and biology they had taken a bathroom break and found a storeroom full of armor. They'd decided that rather than be told to 'stay put' by Master Yoda, they would simply avoid him all together by stealing a pair of suits and stowing away with the troops dirtside.

They'd come for Padmé and they weren't being left behind.

"Come on," Sabé hisses as they try pointlessly to finish putting on their stolen armor and blend in with the troops.

They duck behind equipment, surveying the scene before spotting a transport and hurrying towards it.

Half shouting, they jump on, startling the men.

"Miss!" One of them shouts, grabbing Sabé by the collar and hoisting her up, setting her down with little effort back on her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her steadied.

Saché flips up her visor and grins. "Hello boys!"

"Miss, you need to hang on!" One of them shouts, grabbing both of their wrists and roughly shoving them toward heavy straps dangling from the roof inside the transport.

Gripping the strap, Sabé leans into Saché and closes her eyes, hoping they survive and find Padmé. If she's alive, they're going to kill her.

#######

"Well that doesn't look good," Saché mutters, making a face as they wander through the makeshift medical tents, brimming with wounded troopers and a few Jedi, searching for Padmé.

When they'd entered the dry atmosphere, they'd planned on running off and starting their search right then and there. The troops had other plans.

"You aren't allowed off the transport," the lead trooper had told them. "You'll stay here until the area is secured."

"Like hell we will," Saché snarled.

Perhaps sensing they weren't receptive to his command, he'd nodded at one of the other men, and before either of the girls could protest, they were knocked to the ground by the landing and the officer had one of the men clamp heavy ankle cuffs on them.

"You can't-you cannot do this!" Sabé yelled as they pulled both she and Saché to the middle of the transport, depositing them with muttered apologies.

"They just did," Saché grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at the cuff.

Once the men were off, out fighting, the sound of blaster bolts ricocheting and the smell of burning metal filling the transport, Saché reached into her pocket and pulled out a small blade.

Saché had been picking locks since she was five. This was youngling work.

It took her less than a minute to get the cuffs off, her own and then Sabé's, then they'd hurried off and into the sandy mess.

They jumped back on the transport seconds later, covering their heads and diving for the sheltered corners.

"We didn't get blasters!" Saché shouted. "How did we forget blasters?"

It was an unforgivable oversight.

So while the fight raged on, they cowered.

"So much for being useful," Sabé sighed.

Slowly the noise around them calmed, more shouting than fighting, and the troops came back.

"We came to..." one of them begins, looking at the discarded cuffs. "...release you?"

"Thanks," Saché grunted.

Getting up, the girls hopped off the transport, onto the shifting sands to begin their search again.

After what felt like hours, they'd found a trooper who'd told them there'd been 'chatter' about a woman falling from a transport earlier and that she wasn't a Jedi.

"How do you know?" Sabé asked.

The troops barely knew what a girl was, how would they know a Jedi from not?

"They called her a Senator."

Saché tugged at her hair in frustration. "You could've started with that."

"Was she hurt? Where'd they take her?" Sabé asked, wringing her hands.

He'd pointed them in the direction of a line of medical tents. Frantically, they ran towards it.

They'd asked everyone they saw if they'd seen Padmé, but so far they'd come up empty. It's fraying their already tattered nerves.

A medical droid hovers past them, and Saché reaches out, grabbing it by one of its twirling arms.

"Hey! We're looking for our friend. Shouldn't be too hard to find: girl, brown hair, brown eyes, about so tall," she holds her hand up, approximating Padmé's height, "looks kinda like us. She's probably with an obnoxious bearded man and guy with this goofy braid thing, probably exuding an unearned aura of entitlement."

The droid beeps.

"I just told you," Saché snaps.

"Use smaller words," Sabé suggests.

"Ladies," a deep voice interrupts them.

Releasing the droid, they find themselves facing Kit, standing behind them with a pleasant expression on his face.

"Kit!" Saché grins. "What's a nice Nautolan like you doing in a desert like this?"

"Have you seen the Senator? We've been all over," Sabé asks, her stomach in knots.

"She is with Master Yoda," he answers without hesitation.

Saché shoots him an exasperated look. "Profoundly unhelpful. Where is he?"

"I was just going to meet up with him. Come with me and I'll show you," he explains, waving a hand toward the back of the tent, to where some of the worst of the injured are.

Saché's eyebrows shoot up, thinking the same thing as Sabé.

What is Padmé doing back there?

All the worst possibilities begin forming in Sabé's mind.

She's gravely injured, near death, being resuscitated...

They trail after the Jedi, weaving through cots of injured, avoiding puddles of blood scattered on the floor, covering their mouths to guard from the smells of death and pain. Saché makes a face as she sees the state of the men, grim and exhausted all at once.

When they reach the back Kit pushes the curtain separating it from the front of the tent out of the way.

Kit gently nudges them to the left and around.

They've only gone a few meters when Sabé catches sight of a dusty, tattered Jedi's tunic standing next to a white clad woman with messy hair.

"Padmé!"

The woman in white turns, confused by the sound of her name. Her mouth drops open in shock.

"Sabé! Saché!"

She rushes over, dodging medical personnel, grabs them around the necks and gives them a tight squeeze.

She's barely pulled back when a scowl forms on her face.

"What are you doing here?"

Saché arches an eyebrow. "Do you really need to ask?"

She looks unsurprised. Her nose wrinkles as she takes in their appearance, stolen clothing from her closet and clone armor. "What happened to your clothes?"

Sabé glances first down at her own outfit, then at Saché's, before shaking her head. "Don't ask."

Padmé opens her mouth to chastise the, but gets cut off by a groan from behind her.

Casting a sad look at her friends, Padmé turns and hurries back to the cot in the corner.

Following her, the sisters stop just short of the bed.

Sabé feels her breath catch in her throat.

On the bed, face screwed up in pain, clutching the stub of an arm, is Anakin.

"What happened?" Sabé asks, her voice just barely loud enough to be heard, and she almost doesn't think anyone did, when Padmé answers.

"He fought with Dooku."

For a moment no one speaks, then Saché crosses her arms.

"Dooku?" Her eyebrows shoot up and she looks like she's fighting off the urge to say 'I told you so'.

A few minutes later, Master Yoda hobbles over, followed by Windu, both looking grim.

"Yes," Windu tells the gravely. "It seems Dooku has been a part of the plot all along."

Saché glares at him for a moment before rolling her eyes. "You don't say."

"I suppose we owe the two of you an apology," he adds.

Sabé and Saché wait expectantly, but no apology comes.

"How did the two of you get here?" Padmé finally breaks the silence that settles over them.

Sabé gestures toward the Jedi. "We caught a ride with them."

Padmé's eyes narrow as rounds on Windu. "Why would you bring them?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, arches an eyebrow.

"They really didn't give us much choice," he answers. "They were quite insistent and I have no doubt they would have found a way to get here whether we brought them along or not. At least if we kept them with us, we could keep an eye on them."

Padmé isn't impressed with the explanation, despite the fact that it's accurate to a fault. "That's not an excuse. Surely you could have found a way to keep them on Coruscant."

Letting out a low grunt of agitation, Saché rolls her eyes skyward. "We're standing right here you know."

"This is a war zone," Padmé adds, turning her glare on Saché. "It isn't safe for the two of you to be here."

"You're here," Saché counters, raising her chin slightly.

"I came with a Jedi guard."

Saché waves her hand behind her.

"We came with a whole damn army."

For a second Padmé glares in silent fury, grinding her teeth, while Saché simply smiles, certain she's won.

Finally, Padmé sighs, pressing her fingers to her eyes. "You two..."

"Deserve a raise for our devotion?" Saché supplies, grinning at her sister. "I think this should put us up for a pay increase. I'm sending a message back to Panaka the second we get back to Coruscant."

Padmé laughs and pulls them both back into a hug. "Don't ever do anything like this again."

"Only if you don't."

Padmé pulls back, smile dropping fractionally as she finally gets a good look at the sleeves of the blouses they're wearing, poking out from under the armor. "Is that my dress?"

After being berated for once again stealing from the Senator's wardrobe, and promising they won't do it again, which they would, Sabé and Saché had left the tents and gone to wander among the troops.

Several men came up to greet them, tell them about their exploits, wondering about what battles they'd get to fight in next.

Sabé's heart twists as she surveys the identical men, listens to their stories.

It's horrible. They've been engineered to die fighting for a Republic that didn't even know they existed.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Saché whispers, worry coloring her features.

"What's going to happen to them?" Sabé asks, knowing she might not like the answer.

All she receives is a vague shrug in reply.

"They can't use them? They wouldn't would they?"

Saché arches an eyebrow. They would, they will.

"It's slavery," Sabé hisses. "Even if they're happy about it, don't know any better, it's still slavery."

Saché nods, but doesn't speak. She's got no words of comfort.

"Miss Saché," one of the troopers jogs up to them, followed by another pair of white armored men. "I was telling them about women."

He gestures importantly to himself, obviously proud of his expansive knowledge of the opposite sex.

"And now you wanted to show them what we look like?" Sabé asks, forcing a smile.

Her worries aren't his, and she won't ruin his good mood with her fear.

One of the troopers leans in to get a better look at them. He reaches out and takes Saché's hand and examines it, as if she were a foreign creature.

"Very small. Poorly equipped for manual labor." He searches for a word before adding, "Soft."

"And we smell nice too," Saché informs him.

"They do," the first trooper nods enthusiastically. "I smelt them earlier."

"And you're correct. We are not meant for manual labor. That's what big strong men are for," Saché adds, batting her eyes ridiculously for effect.

"That's called flirting," the first trooper explains to his friends.

"It's a little more effective when the person being flirted with is aware of what it is," Saché tells him.

He nods. "Understood, sir."

"Miss," his friend corrects him.

"Sabé. Saché."

They turn at the sound of their names.

Obi-wan, with a few other female Jedi, are striding towards the, looking windswept and tired.

"It's time to go," he tells them as he stops just short of them.

"We're talking to these women," one of the troopers tells him, stepping between Obi-wan and the girls and jabbing a finger at the Jedi. "You already have some."

Obi-wan's eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?"

"Well we are much nicer to look at than them," Saché tells her audience, earning a scowl from the female Jedi.

The trooper nods. "I agree."

"What's going on here?" A captain who had marched over to investigate the trouble asks.

The first trooper snaps to attention.

"Sir, this man is trying to take the Miss Saché and Miss Sabé. We're still talking to them. Miss Saché is very wise and promised earlier to continue her lesson."

Obi-wan chuckles, looking disbelieving. "Saché is wise? What lessons have you been giving?"

Saché's chin rises in offense. "I am wise, you bantha. And any knowledge I give out is none of your business."

"I'll ask you not to insult Miss Saché," the captain tells Obi-wan.

A satisfied smirk forms on Saché's face. "Good to know there are still gentlemen in this universe."

Looking exasperated, Obi-wan forces a pleasant smile for the trooper.

"I meant no disrespect. Saché is an old acquaintance." He shoots Saché an irritable look. "I came to collect her and Sabé. Their friend, the Senator, is being taken back to Coruscant for further treatment."

The captain looks to the girls. "Is this acceptable to you?"

Sabé nods. "Yes, thank you."

Saché links her arm with Sabé's and waves.

"Don't worry boys, I'll make sure you all get the proper instructions. I might have a recording that would be-well, not entirely educational, but informative none the less."

They hurry off after that, attempting to leave the Jedi behind, but they catch up.

"What did you teach them?" One of the Jedi, a Mirialan woman, asks.

Increasing their speed, Sabé and Saché pretend not to hear her.

When they reach the tent, they once again find Padmé hovering near Anakin.

Sitting next to him, they're watch droids cart men onto the transport when Obi-wan, Windu, Master Yoda, and the Mirialan approach them.

Sabé looks at them questioningly.

"We came to see you off," Windu answers the unspoken question.

"To make sure we leave, more likely," Saché mutters.

Judging from their shared looks, she's not wrong.

Sensing an opportunity to speak while Saché glares down the Jedi, Sabé asks, "Where will the troopers be taken?"

Snapping out of her sour mood, Saché's expression softens. "There are so many of them."

"Naboo might be able to absorb some of them," Sabé offers, looking to Padmé.

"Lorrd will help too. They're some the staunchest opponents of slavery," Saché adds.

"Slavery?" The Mirialan looks confused. "They aren't slaves."

"Well what would you call them?" Saché's snaps, glaring at the Jedi. "They are individuals born to a system that was paid to produce them. They've been given no choice in the matter and are meant to be used for a very specific purpose. Sounds suspiciously like slavery to me."

Sabé can see Padmé shifting uncomfortably behind her and looking anxiously at Anakin who has shifted on the cot. She isn't happy with things as they are, but for the moment, there's nothing to be done.

"Saché," Padmé's firm voice breaks the staring contest, "this isn't the time."

"If not now, then when Padmé?" Sabé asks, her voice breaks.

"Later."

Saché shakes her head. "What about when there is no later?"

#######

Sabé sits cross-legged and tries to smooth out the wrinkles in her stolen outfit while Saché lays on her back, humming an old lullaby.

They're waiting on Padmé and news about what they're going to do on the long trip back to Coruscant.

As soon as they'd entered the ship, Anakin was ushered off and Padmé had hurried after him. They hadn't seen her since.

A shadow falls across them and they look up to find Padmé, her expression livid.

She slumps down beside Sabé, making a frustrated noise. "They've gone into a meeting."

"And let me guess: you weren't allowed in," Saché huffs, her eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"No."

"Shocking."

They sit in silence for several long moments, Padmé casting sidelong glances down the hall every few minutes, waiting for the Jedi to disperse from their meeting and then the other way down the hall, toward the medical bay.

"I'm sure Anakin is going to be okay," Sabé reassures her.

Saché sits up, her smile mischievous. "What happened between the two of you?"

A small smile forms on Padmé's face. "He's a friend. I'm worried about him."

Sabé snorts. Both she and Saché can tell by her body language that she's grown to think of Anakin as far more than a friend.

"Oh for pity's sake Padmé, how long have we known you? You're smitten," Saché tells her, poking Padmé in the cheek.

A faint blush forms on Padmé's face. "Maybe just a little." Padmé's face falls. "They haven't let me see him since we got on."

"Won't they though?" Sabé frowns.

Padmé shakes her head.

Saché makes a disgusted noise, and her expression settles into determination as she rolls over and pushes herself up, grabbing Padmé by the hand.

"Let's go see your boyfriend."

They hurry down the hall, dodging droids and several clone troopers before they make their way to the medical bay.

There are rows of occupied beds will ill and injured men, all in varying stages of alertness. The girls squint into the brightness of the room, creeping as quietly as they can down the first row, then the second, until they reach a bed with a curtain pulled around it.

How inconspicuous of them, Saché silently grumbles and she reaches for the curtain.

Peeking around the side, Padmé sighs and silently pulls the other two with her into the small space. She gently sits at his side and places her hand on his shoulder, causing his eyes to flutter over.

"Padmé?"

"Shhh, it's all right...I just wanted to check on you."

His eyes open more and a goofy grin forms on his face, the pain medication clearly strong in him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she reassures him, lightly stroking his hair.

"Don't do anything halfway do you, sweetness?" Saché jokes, her eyes on his mangled arm.

He chuckles.

"Never." He looks back at Padmé, grimacing. "They'll throw you out, you know? Once they come back."

Her smile falters. "I know."

Feeling like an intruder, Sabé inclines her head toward the curtain indicating to Saché they should step out for a moment.

Shuffling quietly, they slip out of the curtained room and to the side, shielding themselves from the door but making sure they can see if anyone comes in that might discover Padmé.

"Miss?"

Both girls startle and turn to find several troopers staring at them.

"Hello boys," Saché waves, still keeping a wary eye on the door.

"Are you injured as well, miss?"

Sabé shakes her head. "Just visiting."

Suddenly, Saché hisses and Sabé looks over the men's shoulders and sees while. Obi-wan, Windu, and Master Yoda have all arrived.

Saché peeks around the curtain. "Time to leave Senator Smoochypants!"

Padmé practically jumps out of the curtained room and looks between her friends, her face flushed. "Where do we go?"

Grabbing Padmé, they force her down to the ground with them and they begin to crawl, commando style, under the cots, praying they aren't seen.

"Do you need help?" A trooper asks.

"Shhhhhh!" Saché hisses, finger to lips. "If they see us they'll…do…something. We aren't supposed to be in here, strictly speaking."

The clones nod in understanding and push the blankets off their cots so that they cover the crawling girls. Several other men shoot them odd looks as they crawl under the cots, but say nothing. They've nearly reached the door when a pair of unfamiliar boots blocks their path. All three of them grimace, certain they'll be caught, and caught in quite an undignified position.

"The Senator from Naboo was asking for admittance earlier or to be told of Skywalker's status. Should I update her or let her in?" The young, unfamiliar Jedi asks.

"The Senator is too concerned with Skywalker, and I'm afraid he is too concerned with her. They need to be separated. Do not tell her anything," Windu tells the boy before walking off.

Sabé watches Obi-wan's boots shuffle, turn to watch Windu go then turn back to the boy, sighing. "I'll speak with the Senator."

Glancing over her shoulder, Sabé watches Padmé's expression shift from hurt to fury in seconds. She's not going to be cut out of Anakin's life.

She looks seconds from crawling out and telling the Jedi just that when she's pulled from sight by the foot. Saché is zipped away seconds later. Sabé fells herself tugged backward and into the grinning arms of a group of troopers, hidden behind a stack of medical supplies.

"I knew I liked you boys," Saché whispers, eyeing their new hiding spot happily.

Padmé frowns. "Are we just going to stand around until they leave?"

One of the men tosses her a laundry bag.

Several minutes later, Sabé is inside the unpleasant smelling bag, hoisted over the strong shoulder of the trooper, being smuggled out of the medical ward. She hears the muffled voices of the Jedi as they pass them.

"'Scuse me sirs," her clone roughly tells them as they pass.

Sabé holds her breathe until she hears the familiar hiss of the door. The bag shifts from light to dark and knows they've crossed to the hall.

They only go a little further when she's gently sat down and the top of her bag opens, a pair of strong hands helps her out. "Easy does it ma'am."

"You ladies should probably avoid the med ward.'

"Agreed," Saché laughs, still making faces, trying to get the smell from her nose.

Looking awkward, the men mumble their goodbyes before scurrying off toward the medical ward.

Saché waves before sighing dramatically. "Pity. They aren't half bad looking."

#######

When they find their way back to the dark little corner they'd occupied earlier, they slump down against the wall and settle in for the remainder of the trip.

Saché begins to nod off, her head slumping onto Sabé's shoulder.

"If you drool on me I'm going to knock you over."

"Mmhmm," Saché murmurs sleepily.

Sabé has begun to nod off as well when a shadow falls over them, blocking the small sliver of light from them.

Saché grunts and opens one eye. "Oh for-what do you want?"

Squinting up, Sabé finds Obi-wan frowning down at them.

"I need to speak with the Senator."

Padmé arches an eyebrow. "Anything you have to say to me you can say to my friends."

"She'll tell us anyway," Sabé reminds him.

He sighs, runs a weary hand over his face and hair before fixing Padmé in a wary stare.

"Very well. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Anakin will be fine. They're planning on replacing his hand once we reach Coruscant."

"What do you mean you're 'not supposed to tell'?" Saché grumbles, sitting up.

Obi-wan sighs. "Because several members of the Order feel that the Senator has become too close with Anakin. They were resistant to letting me tell you of his condition, but I convinced them that it would be better to tell you than to have you prying in on things."

Sabé almost laughs. He's a bit late to stop that.

"How terribly noble of you," Saché mutters.

"Anakin is my friend. I am concerned for his welfare, Jedi or not. There is no need for such secrecy," Padmé tells him, her teeth grinding and her expression forced calm.

Obi-wan watches her for a moment, and Sabé frowns.

He's concerned about her connection with Anakin too. Beyond that even. He's afraid of what has grown between them.

He senses danger there.

"Senator, we are afraid your feelings have moved beyond friendly. It's a very dangerous line the two of you are walking. Please, be responsible. I know Anakin's nature and I'm hoping you will do what is best," he finally says. "Get some rest."

With that he turns and leaves, wincing slightly as he walks, and Sabé feels the tiniest bit sorry she hadn't inquired about his injuries.

"Well that's-they're-completely wrong," Padmé finally stammers before slumping down, glaring at the floor.

They spend the rest of the flight in silence.

#######

"Why is it always so cold here?" Saché complains when they land at the Jedi Temple.

Padmé disappears before the healer that had come to greet them could even begin to attend to her wounds.

While they waited for her to return, the girls watched the troopers moving injured men from the transport to the Temple.

"I wonder if clones have psychic connections with each other? You know, like twins?" Saché wonders.

Sabé shrugs, continues to survey the area. No Padmé. "Where do you suppose she went?"

"Fresher?" Saché answers offhandedly. She brightens. "We could just ask her."

Padmé appears from a crowd of men, her face twisted up in a clear attempt to keep herself from crying. She looks ready to murder.

Sabé reaches out for her. "Padmé wha-"

"Come on!"

Jogging after her, they barely catch her when she's hailing a taxi.

"Padmé! You can't take a taxi! You're a senator!" Sabé reminds her, grabbing her hand.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll comm. Typho and get a speeder sent over." Saché tells her, shaking her head and looking concerned for her behavior. "Get a grip on yourself, Pads."

Padmé huffs, takes a breath, trying to calm herself.

"I'm just so, so, so…!" She balls her hands into fists and glares back at the Temple "Damn Kenobi!"

Saché looks delighted. "Did you punch him? Please tell me you punched him."

Padmé's anger slips for a moment, allowing a grin before she sighs. "No, I should have though…Look I just want to get home, get clean, and get some rest. We've got a long road ahead of us and I really don't feel like waiting for Typho."

Taking pity on her, Saché hails the taxi and they ride back to the apartment in silence.

Once they're back in the safety of their home they retreat to their rooms. Saché collapses on her bed. "You fluffy wonder! How I have missed you!"

Sabé takes a long, warm shower, glorying in the sweet smelling suds. When she finally emerges she's followed by a cloud of steam.

Her shower bliss is short lived, however, when she sees Saché, arms crossed and scowling, watching a ranting Padmé.

"…the presumption! 'Stay out of their business'! I will not be told how I should behave! They cannot dictate the rules of my life! The very thought!"

She's furious, pacing back and forth, muttering to herself as Saché nods her agreement.

"What's happened now?"

Saché shrugs.

"Abridged version: Beardi told Padmé to stay away from Anakin, again, and to keep her nose out of Jedi business." She thinks for a moment. "Actually, that's pretty much the long version too."

Walking over, Sabé drops onto the bed. "What are you going to do?"

Despite the fact that her back is to them, Sabé already senses the answer.

"I told Obi-wan that I wanted to end the relationship with Anakin myself. He's going to accompany me back to Naboo for a respite," her voice is calm, clearly calculating something.

A wicked grin forms on Saché's lips. "What are you planning Padmé? Not to end things I take it?"

Turning back to them, she smiles. "Not quite."

#######

When Padmé speaks to them a few days later, her expression is blissful.

Though Sabé and Saché knew what she and Anakin were planning, it isn't until they see the radiant look on Padmé's face that they truly know.

"I can't believe they actually did it," Sabé whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I can. I mean, they're them. It seems exactly like them," Saché half chuckles, her expression still colored with concern.

Padmé returns a few days later, not an ounce of regret in her.

"I'm happy," she tells them. "We're both so happy."

Exchanging wary glances, Sabé and Saché congratulated her, gave her hugs and wished her the very best.

They won't tell the Jedi, they won't tell anyone. She's their friend and they're her handmaidens, and they'll keep her secret, to the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: That's it, that's the end. Hopefully y’all enjoyed this little attempt. I'm going to try to work on the 3rd part, which follows the girls through their adventures during the clone war, but it'll be a while coming. It's a long story and it needs a lot of timeline work. Thanks for reading.


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